On the Other Side
by murtagh799
Summary: "I ingested veela blood last week and all I want to do now is fu- I mean have sex with you!" He really didn't seem pleased with the idea. DRAMIONE. Coarse Language, Sexual content.
1. Stripper

**A/N: **So, this is my new story. I know I'm weeks later than I anticipated, but life just comes up sometimes and it was really out of my control. Nevertheless, I really hope you enjoy! It was a lot of hard work. Let me know what you think.

**Notes: **The only thing you ought to know when reading this (beyond the warnings listed below) is that the chapters are going to be much longer than my other stories and that I'm assigning a song for each chapter, which will also pair for the chapter title.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own, don't sue!

**WARNINGS: THIS STORY CONTAINS COARSE LANGUAGE AND SCENES OF A SEXUAL NATURE. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. **

_**Song selection for this chapter: Stripper by the Soho Dolls**_

**Chapter One: Stripper **

"Mm... Fuck, yeah..." he muttered, just for the sake of filling in the silence. If he didn't make the effort, it was going to be much more awkward than it already was. And fucking hell was it awkward!

Draco tried not to sigh in frustration as he leaned back into his plush leather seat. Though he didn't see what a big bloody deal it would be. The bint probably would mistake it for his pleasure. He ran his fingers through his fine gold hair and stared down at the brunette in disgust.

He'd met her in a bar sometime earlier that day, he couldn't remember when, where, or why. He didn't even know who she was, really. But he'd reckoned her face did look familiar, so he'd had a drink with her, just for 'old time's sake'. Regardless, she had lured him in with her faux sultry voice. He hadn't minded at the time because he'd been right fucking bored, but she'd said all this bullshit about how she'd "show him things he'd never seen before".

Bloody lying bint.

Not only was she just plain _bad _at it, it was just bloody awkward. But Draco Malfoy never turned down a pretty girl, at least that's what he told himself. Looking down at her as her lips closed around him sloppily, attempting to suck up his length, he thought she was passable. Maybe he'd screw her if he was really, really drunk. But that was the issue. He wasn't really, really drunk.

It never mattered by this point.

He almost wanted to scoff at her. She probably thought she was all special, pulling his length all the way into the back of her throat, just _barely _gagging. He wasn't impressed, he'd had it all before. She'd promised to show him something special. Fucking bitch was a liar, obviously. Why did girls always feel the need to lie about their talents, anyhow?

It wasn't as if he _wasn't _going to screw her just because she was horrible at it.

She began to rub her tongue along the underside of his cock, staring up at him with sultry eyes, as if that would make the shitty blowjob better. Truth was, he just bored out of his skull. There was no passion in it, nothing special. The same boring actions, different mouth, different girl. Did it really matter anymore? He grabbed her by the hair and began to thrust for himself. It was obvious she wasn't going to get the job done.

She began to choke just as he knew she would, as inexperienced as she was, but he didn't fucking care. She'd lied, now she was getting what she deserved. He almost wanted to laugh at her wide eyes, but it was time to concentrate. She braced herself against his legs as he began to thrust wildly into her mouth, tilting her head back to get right into the back of her throat. Her face was turning red but it didn't matter. He was close.

Just as he was about to come, the door opened and in entered the bane of his existence. Blaise fucking Zabini. His head shot up to find the bastard about to open his mouth to say something no one gave a fuck about, as he was always won't to do. But he realized, luckily at the last minute, what exactly Draco was doing. More specifically, that Draco's cock was buried down some random girl's throat.

He was out of the room faster than Draco could blink, thank god.

It didn't take much longer after that. The girl was obviously embarrassed at being caught, which Draco clearly didn't understand. What was there to be embarrassed about? He was the most sought after man in Britain and she was a fucking nobody. If anything, _he_ ought to be embarrassed. The pent up frustration was taken out on the poor girl's mouth as he began to thrust wildly once more, with no regard of her pleasure. She wasn't here for pleasure; anyhow, she just wanted a story to tell to her friends. He knew exactly how it went.

Then finally, _blessedly, _he came. He'd been starting to think that it would never have happened today with her inexperienced mouth and the boredom of the act, but it finally _came. _

He relaxed back into the leather seat and watched her flushed face with unseeing eyes. She was shaking, wondering what was going to happen now. _He _didn't want anything more to do with the boring girl, of course. He just hoped she would get the picture and fucking leave him be. He inclined back further, closing his eyes, pretending to be tired. Which, of course, was entirely impossible with the poor job she'd done.

He was sweaty from the exertions and it was fucking uncomfortable.

"That was...fun," she offered slowly. "Um, should I just...?"

But thankfully, he didn't have to respond as there was a knock on the door. Blaise probably had never had such brilliant timing. The girl blanched, righted her clothes, and was on her feet, smoothing her hair down before he'd even said, "Come in."

Blaise hesitantly opened the door, stepping in. The girl brushed past him, her head down so he wouldn't see her face, but that was a lost cause. He'd seen her and _everything _she'd been doing. Draco felt a little bit disgusted in her behaviour. Blaise's eyes widened a bit, staring back at him as he tucked himself back into his pants. It didn't bother Draco. It was nothing the man hadn't seen before.

"Do my eyes deceive me or was that Tracey Davis?" asked Blaise in his careful tone.

"I don't know. Why?" Draco shrugged. What the fuck did it matter?

Blaise shook his head. "We were at her _wedding _last week, you imbecile."

Draco paused as if to make sure that Blaise hadn't been pulling his leg, and then laughed. "That's just too good!" he chuckled as Blaise scowled his usual scowl at Draco's antics. "Wait, you mean the wedding where I fucked the bride before she walked down the aisle?"

Blaise looked a bit shocked. "You didn't!"

Draco only smirked as Blaise shook his head clearly disgusted. He didn't understand what the man's deal was. He was always harping on about one thing or another and it was really starting to tick Draco off. What was his bloody problem? It wasn't as if Draco had done anything morally heinous. All he'd done was screw someone else's bride and then let her suck him off a couple of days later, not remembering who she was.

Draco inwardly cringed. So alright, it wasn't exactly the _best _thing he'd done in his days, but it definitely wasn't the worst. "It's not like I chased after her," he defended. "She came after me. Honestly, I didn't even know she was Davis until you pointed it out."

And that was true. Draco _never _chased after girls. Never had in his long, long past and never would. The day Draco Malfoy chased after a girl was the day hell would freeze over. Merlin would come back to toss his world around and his balls would fall off before that would happen. Yeah, not happening, not in a million fucking years.

But he still looked at Draco in that disbelieving way of his that he had. Draco rolled his eyes and fought the urge to throw out a snarky comeback. Blaise, as always, was unaware of Draco's attempts at being nice. "That's sleazy, mate, even for you."

"Sleazy? _Me? _You've some nerve." Blaise narrowed his eyes. Of course holier than thou Zabini would never ever acknowledge the flaws within himself. "What? Forgetting that you're screwing my ex, are you?" Blaise's cheeks darkened, which was a feat in itself that made Draco smirk. "I didn't know you were into sloppy seconds so much, Blaisey, especial mine! Quite kinky-"

"Enough," Blaise cut him off in a clipped tone. "Get dressed, we have a board meeting."

That was Blaise, ignoring him and his comments. The boy had been that way since they were little, when his mother would receive Lady Zabini the gold digger for tea and stick Draco and Blaise together to play. They'd become a sort of friends fast enough surely, but solely out of circumstance.

Had they not been forced together for so many years, first by their mothers, then at Hogwarts as a consequence of dorming for seven long years, they would certainly not be friends. Draco and Blaise were complete polar opposites. Blaise was quiet, logical, rational, while Draco was loud, boisterous, and arrogant. Blaise was emotionless, Draco was nearly bipolar. Blaise liked to read like a little bookworm and Draco could not give a fuck about anything, really.

No one exactly knew _why _they were friends. It appeared as if they hated each other, almost, but that wasn't true. Blaise took care of Draco when need be and Draco... well Draco did whatever Blaise asked after throwing a snarky fit. He tolerated Blaise because he always had and Blaise kept Draco in line because he probably had nothing better to do with his life other than fucking Draco's ex-girlfriend.

Now, Draco wasn't petty when it came to his friends, just because he had so few and far in between. Draco didn't begrudge Blaise for trying to have a relationship, if that's what it was, with Pansy Parkinson (he pitied him, really), he just enjoyed making Blaise feel uncomfortable. It was kind of like a hobby.

Much had changed since the end of the war, but not his relationship with Zabini. The Dark Lord had fallen, his mother had followed the same route only a year after, his father had been sentenced to Azkaban and had served his time shamefully, eventually being released. Even the Ministry of Magic had gone through a period of bullshit reform, which didn't change much but had made people feel a bit better. Draco had gone through women like tissue, but throughout all that Zabini had always stuck around.

Together, they had discovered the meaning of life. Or, well, _Draco _had whilst Zabini remained completely boring. It irked Draco to no end. Life was quite simple, in reality. He had developed the perfect philosophy. To live, one only needed four things: Sex, drugs, lies, and amusement.

Some might call it a useless existence but fuck it if he cared what anyone thought about him. There was no such thing as ideals, the war had proven that much. Both sides had fought for something and neither had gotten what they wanted, neither had really accomplished anything. There was no such thing as love – his parent's marriage had proven that. Schooling and knowledge didn't make a difference, didn't get you anywhere in life, only money did. One only needed to look at the Weasley's, as rotten as they were, for an example.

What was money good for, anyway? Sex, Drugs, and amusement. Perhaps strippers as well, but that was all. There was nothing more to one's existence, Draco had determined. People worked day and night for money, money just so they could get a morsel of pleasure and luxury now and then. And Draco was filthy rich, of course. Why work when he could satisfy his existence as it was?

Blaise stepped towards Draco and snapped his fingers in front of the blond's face until the fellow started. "What are you, deaf? We have to get going!"

"I think I'm going to skip this one, actually," Draco yawned, getting up and picking his way lazily over to his bed. "You go on ahead and send my regards, yes? Great, see you. Don't forget to shut the door behind you."

Draco plopped himself down on the bed, folding his arms behind his head. He ought to have discarded his clothes before doing so, but he was much too lazy for that now. When Blaise walked over to the bed and sat himself down without being invited, Draco sighed. What could the man possibly want now? He had been perfectly clear with his wishes... It wasn't exactly too difficult to follow.

"Is this about having to plan the funeral?" asked Blaise carefully, as if it were some kind of sensitive subject.

Draco stared at Blaise with a deadpanned expression, waiting for the fucker to elaborate. When nothing came but a strange look, Draco had the urge to strangle the bastard. It wasn't as if he was asking for too much. He didn't like his feathers ruffled when he was all groggy, Blaise should know that by now. "Are you going to tell me what you're on about or do I have to beat it out of you?"

Blaise seemed uncomfortable. "Your father passed away two days ago..." he trailed, waiting to see if Draco had even been aware of the news. Draco put on his best _so what? _expression. "Are you not arranging the funeral, Draco?"

Draco shrugged. It was bad enough that he had to go to the stupid thing, why the fuck would he ever waste his time planning it? "I think the house elves will manage wonderfully, won't they?" Blaise opened his mouth to retort, something Draco knew he wouldn't want to waste time hearing, so he beat Blaise to it. "I'm not bothered, how could I be? He was a foul person and not much of a father. I just don't _give _a fuck. Don't really want anything to do with it."

Blaise nodded, staring at him in something that was akin to pity. Draco couldn't fathom why anyone would pity him now. His life was absolutely fantastic. He no longer had to tolerate the bastard that had made his life miserable for years, he had full control of his inheritance, and the manor was now for his personal use. He was young, good looking, and all that. Life was as good as it was going to get. He didn't need pity, he needed a good drinking buddy.

Truth was, when he'd heard Lucius had finally died, he'd immediately gone to the club and bought everyone a shot. In retrospect, it almost sounded heartless, but Draco didn't fucking care. His father _had _been heartless, cruel, a right bleeding bastard. Draco didn't regret it. In fact, hatred was more than Lucius deserved at this point. Lucius didn't deserve to have his name spoken or even thought of.

"Well, want to go to the club then, since you refuse to leave me be?" Draco questioned lightly.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "No, you and I have to go to the board meeting, you fucking idiot. They're transferring ownership of the company to you! You _have _to be there to sign the papers, so get the fuck up and get bloody dressed before I curse your balls off!"

Blaise seemed to be rather pissed off with Draco. If only Draco cared...

"I thought they'd wait until after the funeral, at least," Draco yawned, once more. "When is this meeting anyway?"

"We're half an hour _late," _he hissed back. By that point, he had already gone over to Draco's well stocked closet and brought back a pair of dress robes Draco didn't remember ever seeing before. "Now please, get dressed so we can just get this over with. I've seen enough of your ugly mug for one day."

Draco pretended to be offended at the flustered comment before getting up to do as he was asked. This was how it always was. Blaise would force Draco into doing stuff that needed to get done and then when it was all over, Draco would force Blaise to act like a normal human being. When all was said and done, Blaise was the closest thing to family Draco had ever had, though he just wouldn't ever dare say something that corny aloud.

"Well, alright. You go," Draco muttered, discarding his clothes and casting a scourigfy on himself. "I'll catch up with you in just a minute." With his shirt over his head, Draco missed the evil look Blaise sent his way. If he had, he would know that Blaise would seriously hurt him later if he took more than a minute.

But because he hadn't, he took exactly five.

/

Hermione Granger was _angry. _

Now, she wasn't _often _angry, she didn't have a temper, or anger management type issues, she liked to think. In fact, she was quite cool and rational most of the time! She did things properly and anger just didn't get you places you needed to be. Most of the time it was a hindrance and you could hardly do a good job if you were blinded by such a consuming emotion. So no, she liked to refrain from giving into rage.

But when she _was _angry, she felt she was very justified in taking part in such an unnecessary behaviour. So when the sixth thing went wrong that day at work, she'd just about had it! She was ready to tear into the next person that pissed her off, and with the imbeciles that she worked with? That was going to be entirely too easy.

It wasn't their fault, she amended inside her head. They were just... not what she'd envisioned her co-workers to be like, she supposed. She couldn't blame the world for not living up to her standards, right? She could only yell at it, kick and scream until it took notice of her, and maybe make a few changes before the anger ran out and guilt began to pour in.

Ten years, though, was much too long. Any hope of such a thing happening had long since died and even been buried.

Yes, she'd been here ten years. When she'd gone back and properly graduated from Hogwarts the year after the war and come to an end, she'd thought that the world would certainly be a better place. She'd easily been swept up as a member of the new Committee of Reform, which essentially was responsible for helping Wizarding Britain adjust to the changes they were clearly experiencing.

She'd been hired as a poster child, but she'd had no idea back then. The whole bloody committee was a sham, something she'd figured out a year into her work. The reforms they proposed were meaningless, the reforms they actually went through with were not worth mentioning, and she didn't really have a job there. It was all a waste of time.

So, she'd moved on, hoping to find another cause to dedicate herself to. In her ten years at the Ministry of Magic, she'd worked in: the Committee of Reform, the Department of International Magical Cooperation and _all _of its sub offices, the offices of the Improper Use of Magic in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, The Department of Magical Transportation, the Committee of Experimental Charms, and now she was stuck in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

She'd just gotten this newish job a year and a half ago and was _still _hoping for it to get better. She'd thought that perhaps she could pursue her passion for protecting those who could not protect themselves. Specifically House Elves.

Now, she wasn't stupid. She knew her work with S.P.E.W back in the day had been a miserable failure, but seriously, she was working with a bunch of fucking idiots. She'd like to think she was an idealist most of the time, but when she saw people like her current co-workers going about their day, she had absolutely no hope for the world.

Just today, Marian, the lady in the office next door had forgotten that she'd had to prepare for the big department meeting that was TOMORROW. Sasha who was the deputy head for the bloody department had forgotten to book the Ministry board rooms for their big department meeting _tomorrow_! Charles had forgotten that she was supposed to speak at the godforsaken department meeting, which was again – TOMORROW!

And twenty-five out of the thirty-five people that worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had told her that they wouldn't be able to make it to the bloody department meeting tomorrow, out of conflicting scheduling or something. Not that she hadn't been planning this for a month. Oh no, she definitely _hadn't_ given them at least three notices in the past week.

She was angry. She was ready to quit. There was no hope in the world, not for little house elves, not for any poor little creatures, and definitely not for her.

/

Draco walked lazily into the board meeting and completely missed when everyone quieted down. This was normal behaviour for a Malfoy. Everyone noticed when you came into the room, watched what you did, how you moved, what you said, if you chewed too quickly, if you began to sweat, etc, etc. It was all a bloody nightmare, but Draco was very much used to it by this age. He hadn't been raised poorly, he knew how to handle this kind of pressure.

But of course, he'd completely forgotten the fact that he was nearly 45 minutes late to the meeting in which his father's entire life's work (The work beyond bending over backwards to let the Dark Lord fuck him up the arse, that is) was being transferred under his name. To be honest, Draco didn't care for any of it. He knew he wouldn't be managing the business. Blaise probably would have a hand in running it. It was going to be as it always had been – he would be called once in a while to give a speech, sign something, or listen to some random prick ramble. Nothing more, nothing less.

As they finally began the proceedings, Draco realized he was bored out of his fucking mind. He didn't really understand exactly why he needed to be here to listen to some old fucking pigs to lecture him. And lecturing him they were! Condescending fuckers. They all thought they'd be getting life easy now, now that their dictator was gone.

Draco didn't mind that the old farts were going to take over the company and get whatever the fuck they wanted. Draco hardly cared, in fact, he _encouraged _it. People should always go after whatever they wanted in life. If these men wanted money and pseudo power, well then, all the more power to them.

What he _did _mind was their fucking attitude to his face. As they each took their turn speaking to him about their roles in the company, what would be expected of him, what he ought to be expecting from now on... it was all a fucking farce and a huge slap in the face! They spoke to him as if he were a child, as if he weren't even educated. It pissed him the hell off.

Minutes passed and he realized he was tapping his foot impatiently. The board members stared at him knowingly. They, of course, thought he was a useless vagabond drug addict that just liked to fuck around all day. Sure, that may be exactly what he was, but these rich old bastards had no right to judge him over such things. His anger grew rapidly, something he had become adept at hiding, as they droned on.

"...and finally, you will be expected to maintain the company values and image in public at all times, of course. I know this may be difficult," the man, who had something to do with public relations or something of the sort, told him in that nasal-like condescending voice. Draco fought to urge to grit his teeth and instead nodded politely.

He was not a fucking child for Merlin's sake.

"Very good!" another portly old man exclaimed. He couldn't remember any of their names, but it hardly mattered. They were all going to get what was coming to them. "So then, we can begin with the signing. Here, here, and here," he pointed.

Draco began the large process, signing his name with a flourish over forty freaking times. By the end of it, his hand was beginning to cramp and the room had become especially hot and sweaty. Draco had not ever seen a more disgusting sight than what lay before him, sweaty old men attempting to fan themselves off. He couldn't wait to be rid of them. And then finally, with the last signature, a gold flash of light glowed throughout the room signalling the transfer of ownership to him. Draco sighed in relief. He wondered silently if that had been more work than it was worth.

They all congratulated him, the fuckers who thought they were going to rob him of the power that was rightfully his since birth. Who the fuck did they think they were, talking to him like that, treating him as if he were some kind of fool? Draco Malfoy might have been laid back and a bit of an unaccomplished person, but he did _not ever _let _anyone _fuck around with him.

"So Mr. Malfoy, what will be your first action as the Head of Malfoy Industries?" asked the man who was obviously wearing a wig. It wasn't fooling anyone, Draco wanted to shout.

But instead, he let a small smile spread across his face, lighting his features. He knew he looked the perfect picture of innocence just then. All the better to throw them off with what he was about to do. He stood up, gesturing for them to all follow the action. "After much consideration over the last hour, I've come to a wonderful decision," he paused, letting them wait for him to continue. "You're all fired."

Blaise was startled out of his stupor and shouted a loud, "_What?" _

"Yeah, you're all fired," Draco repeated. "Except for you, Blaise, of course. You can stay." Draco smiled at him a little evilly.

"Delightful," he drawled sarcastically and left the board room, shutting the door with a resounding bang.

Draco stared at the shocked faces around him and barely restrained himself from laughing in their faces. It probably wasn't wise to fire the entire head staff of his company, but they were old rotting bastards, anyways. They could suffer for treating him any less than he deserved to be treated. They didn't deserve to be the dirt under his soles, so for all he cared, they could all fuck off.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" Draco taunted. No one said anything at all for a moment, just twelve sweaty faces staring back at him in absolute horror. Draco realized that they probably hadn't ever expected this kind of reaction from him. He almost cruelly wished that one of them would keel over in a heart attack just to add to the drama, but it didn't seem like a possibility at the moment unfortunately. That was just too bad.

"You can't just _fire _us!" one of them began to say. "I've worked here for fifteen years!"

"Lovely. So it's clear that you've overstayed your welcome, isn't it? Now I suggest you leave right away, there's no need to pack. I will have the house elves send your belongings where they ought to be," Draco said good naturedly. "Unless you prefer security to escort you out?"

"You don't know what you're doing, boy," one of them said as he angrily left the room. "This is going to be the end of you, I swear it!"

Draco rolled his eyes and waved the man out with as much condescension as he could manage – which was a lot. It wasn't like he hadn't heard those exact words shouted at him several times before. He was quite used to it. The appeal of firing the fuckers was beginning to quickly wear off now and he was rapidly becoming bored again. Could one actually be _bored _to death?

Then something caught his attention. As the last of the board members filed out, Draco noticed an unlikely trio at the very end of the shame faced procession. A goblin, a tired looking man who couldn't be a day over thirty, and a girl. Yeah, she was a _girl, _alright. She must have just graduated last May, in fact.

"Oi, you three!" he called out sharply. Of course, they seemed to be used to such treatment because he didn't even need to clarify who he was talking to. "Who are you?" he questioned when they stood before him.

The tired man stared at Draco as if wondering why he was even bothering with such a task. "I am Bart Gloringhouse, sir, I work in your now non-existent PR department. This is Tamsin, she was Mr. Flaharty's assistant, and this is Ognuk, Head of Finance."

If anything, Draco liked the man's spunk. "Right. I like you three, so you can stay," Draco said, shrugging. They didn't seem to have anything to say to that and the tired man looked a little reluctant. "Ten percent raise and you can have the rest of the week off, but I expect you here bright and early Monday morning dealing with everything that needs to be done, got it?"

"Yes, sir," the three chimed.

Draco gave them a wave and they left, heeding the obvious command. Draco inclined back into his chair, realizing that he was actually quite tired today for no reason. It wasn't as if he'd done all that much strenuous work. He was just... tired. As he closed his eyes and began to see the smoky hallways of his most favourite place on earth, something, or someone, smacked him on the back of the head, startling him awake.

"I _hate _you," Blaise nearly yelled at him. "Why is it that you can never do anything right, Malfoy? All you had to do was sign some papers for god sakes! Where the hell am I going to find a whole new board?"

"Not entirely new, I kept some," Draco muttered in his defence. "Besides, I thought you hated the fuckers, anyway. You've only been ranting about them for the past ten years or so."

Blaise's eyes softened for a moment. "I didn't know you actually _listened _to those rants or I never would've done it! Look at where we are now! How the hell are we going to get anything done without a board?" Blaise hit Draco over the head again, his anger back in full force. Draco was surprised he wasn't in a choke hold yet.

Draco shrugged, unconcerned. It probably wasn't good business, but he wasn't a businessman. It didn't matter to him if they weren't completely on top of things at the moment. They had a valid excuse, at least, and in Draco's books that meant everything was A-okay. It meant that he could laze off and let them deal with the problem another day – whoever "them" was, was still undetermined.

"We'll figure it out tomorrow, yeah?" asked Draco, standing up and stretching, much to Blaise's annoyance. Both he and Blaise knew that he wasn't actually going to do anything. Draco _never _did anything, never solved his own problems. Why would this suddenly be the first time? "But for now, let's go to the club."

It must have been such a catastrophe, something that even Blaise wasn't willing to deal with at the moment Draco realized, because for the first time ever in the history of their friendship, Blaise agreed to do something with Draco without putting up a fuss first.

/

"Get _off _me, Ronald!" Hermione nearly hissed.

Ron looked at her as if he'd been slapped, but she wasn't fooled one bit. She'd seen this look before, he put it on practically every time they fought (and that was more often than she could count). The man really was made up of four emotions: Happy, sad, angry, or horny. It disgusted Hermione, especially when they were fighting like they were now. It was at these times she questioned her decision to repeatedly stay with him.

"Why are you such a prude, for Merlin's sake?" Ron slurred in her general direction, his breath stinking of alcohol. "We never do it and you're saying no now?"

She nearly vomited a little bit in her mouth at the smell of firewhisky wafting into her face. She hated when he was like this. In fact, she was pretty sure she'd broken up with him at least three times just because he was like this. She didn't like the fact that he needed to resort to alcohol, or that he came over to her flat after he was well and thoroughly pissed to get laid.

What was she, some kind of common whore? It really hurt her feelings and he just didn't seem to understand. Well, she deserved better than this! She deserved someone who understood what she wanted and treated her and her body with some goddamned respect. She was a woman, a dignified, accomplished woman, not some cheap slag in a brothel. This was it, this was the last goddamn time she was going to break up with him.

"I'm not doing _anything _with you," she said, determined now that she had made her mind up.

When Hermione got something into her head, she very well went through with it. There was no stopping her now. And she would _not _get back together with him either, like the last twenty times when he brought flowers over the next day (or more accurately, the next week). She was done with this idiotic relationship just like she was done expecting something good to happen at work. She needed _change. _Sticking around and waiting for things to change themselves was just not going to happen, she decided.

"Aw, come on, baby," he pleaded, stumbling toward her. He grabbed her around the waist and began to kiss sloppily along her neck, causing her to shiver in revulsion. "Don't be like that. You know I can't resist only because you're so beautiful." He was mumbling at this point and she hat to strain to hear his excuses, because that's what they were – excuses. "Is it wrong that I want you, Hermy?"

"_No, _it's how you go about it, Ronald, now let me go!" she nearly screamed. His eyes, which had been drooping, widened in a flash and he stumbled a step away from her as if shocked she could possibly deny him. "I want you to leave now," she stated confidently. Yes, that was exactly what she wanted. She wanted him to leave and never come back.

Ron ignored her, obviously thinking she wasn't being serious. And how could he take her seriously? She hadn't ever been completely serious with him. He knew he'd always be forgiven for it all eventually. It was sad, sadder than she was willing to admit it at the moment because at that moment all she wanted was to crawl into bed and cry herself to sleep about the state of her life.

"You don't really want me gone," he said, walking over towards the couch and throwing himself onto it. That kind of behaviour made her clench her fists together. How could she like him if he was going to behave like a child? And worse, how could she like him if he insisted on dragging the couch around with his weight and scratching up her floors? "Why do you have to act so uptight all the time, love?"

"Don't call me that!" she hissed. "I want you to _leave, _Ronald, right now or I'm going to curse you until you can't see, get it?" She reached into her pocked to grasp a hold of her wand just in case that possibility was necessary. She hadn't cursed him since... well, since Sixth year when he'd ditched her for Lavender Brown.

And God had that felt good.

The drunk buffoon still hadn't realized that she was losing her patience with him because all he did was grin cockily back at her, spreading himself lazily on her couch. She closed her eyes and counted to ten slowly, taking in deep breaths. It was okay, really. He'd get up and leave and she wouldn't have to berate herself for wasting more than ten years of her life over a man who had alcohol issues and had a range of emotions that could fit in a tea-spoon.

"Want to join me?"

_Five...Four... _

"We could kiss and make up, love, I'm sorry-"

_Three..._

"We can open another bottle of firewhisky, I'll even share, babe."

And the only thought that went through her head as she registered that comment was: _fuck the numbers! _She couldn't believe he could be so thick as to suggest something so stupid, but she wasn't past thinking that low. Instead of causing herself brain damage trying to understand the inner workings of Ronald Weasley's mind, she pulled out her wand and blasted him through her front door.

Five minutes later, after a quick _reparo _to deal with the mess and a Dreamless Sleep Potion, she was fast asleep and completely oblivious to Ron attempting to make his pathetic way home.

/

The air was completely smoky, just the way Draco liked it. It gave the room a more sensual vibe, he felt, and he was something of a connoisseur of sensuality he liked to think. Smoke, as it was, was a kind of a blanket in these kinds of places. Whether it came from the cigar, the candles, the fireplace, or whatever spells the owner of this joint was purposely using, it was working well for Draco.

The smoke would caress him, cloaking him in its warm sheath just as it caressed the scantily clad girls before him. He wasn't particularly interested in any of them at the moment, but they were still something pretty to look at. In the light of the day they could've just been ordinary women. But just then, in that dimly lit smoky room with Draco watching them as the smoke touched them nearly everywhere, they were something special.

They were finally _beautiful. _

This is where Draco came to feel beauty, to see it, to touch it, to hold it, to bloody _taste _it. He could feel it in his veins by the time he was satisfied and gone, could see it imprinted in the flesh of his mind. And it all happened in that smoky little room, tucked away in the depths of London. Not many knew of the place and those that did were a closely knit group. Draco might not know their names (secrecy was a preferred trait more often than not) but he knew what they liked.

And it was here that Draco felt most like a man. He could sit there and just watch whatever show was being put on for him and he would just _know _that it was all for him. They would dance and sing for him, strip and run their hands along their naked bodies just for him. And when they were pleasured, Draco knew it was still just going to be for _him. _

He wasn't particularly possessive of them so he didn't care where their pleasure came from. It didn't matter if it was his turn to pound into the beauty of his choosing. She never complained. She was always wet, always _wanting, _no matter what time it was, no matter who it was that was doing the taking. But Draco knew, and he was assured often, that it was _his. _

He never felt as good when he wasn't in that smoky room. They accepted him there, welcomed him, even the patrons and workers alike. They knew who he was and his god given right to just own all that he touched. They knew that if he wanted, he could crush them with just a snap of his fingers because he was that powerful. They acknowledged it, accepted it, craved it...

They wanted him and he liked it.

For outside that room, whenever he stepped outside that room, he was someone else all of a sudden. He wasn't respected. His philosophy was garbage to everyone else but him and a few select others. That was alright though, he could take the questions: Draco, why don't you ever grow up? Draco, when will you get a real job? Draco, when will you take up your responsibilities? Draco, when will you get out of this phase, Draco? Why, Draco? Why?

The questions were always coming. He just didn't care enough to answer.

He could take all the condescending looks, he could take the abuse they threw at him behind his back. It didn't matter because he didn't care enough for it to matter. But in that room, that room of smoke and mirrors where beauty waited for him to claim it, he was accepted for who and what he was. He wasn't just another bloody rich boy, he was _the _bloody rich boy. No one else.

Just him.

And he liked it that way – just him.

**A/N: I really hope that that was something enjoyable. I know it was long – do you guys prefer shorter chapters? I realize it might've been a little boring BUT I SWEAR IT WILL GET BETTER! Leave me a review and let me know what you think. :) **

**Here's a spoiler for the next chapter: **

_**As he sat there lazily, enjoying the feel of the girl's lips on his neck, he was suddenly surprised by the presence of someone who had just walked through the door. "Granger? Is that Granger?" he asked no one in particular. **_

"_**Is that the one you desire?" asked the girl in his lap. **_


	2. I Like That

A/N: So, I'm sorry for the huge delay on this. Originally, this was supposed to be posted on Monday but I had exams, writers block, and the whole crisis with When a Stranger Calls (WHICH IS NOW DONE!). I hope that you won't hate me too much! I made it extra long just to make up for it. So let me know what you think.

Special thank you to everyone who favourited, alerted, but especially to everyone who reviewed. This chapter is dedicated to the brilliant reviewers: whitestripes123, Jade2099, Scarlet Dewdrops, manitou2424, ilovecupcakes xxx, xenaz3, BlackBloodedMagic, Alexybath, Saphira113, Gin-gin06, buttercup, Talis Ruadair, Alison, Little Girlie Wolf, AvatheApache, PoisonxHeart, and gravity01.

_**Song Selection for this chapter: I Like That by Richard Vision and Static Avenger ft. Luciana **_

**Chapter Two: I Like That**

Hermione groaned. It was only one in the afternoon and she already had a blazing headache and a temper that could potentially last a decade. Really, she was ready to burn the Ministry down, and perhaps take all the bloody imbeciles who worked there with her. She wasn't about to die _alone, _after all! Perhaps she finally understood suicide bombers... maybe they were all just irritated to fuck with the world and that's why they chose to end it all.

It would surely make sense.

Then again, no one seemed to care like she did. It didn't seem to matter that there were poor _beings _in need out there, at least not to anyone else. It just seemed to be another job for everyone here – a job that paid the bills and was something to do during the day. Of course it was, there was no denying it. Why else would they behave the way they did?

Maybe Ron was right, maybe she was too uptight all the time. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. But what did he know? Just because everyone else was an imbecile did not mean she had to be one as well! She was Hermione bloody Granger, after all. She was going to make a change, make a difference, do something _important. _

Yeah, she was going to take a nap.

If she was ever going to survive here or get anything done, she'd have to start doing things differently, she realized. She sat down at her cramped little desk in her unmentionably small office space and pulled out a piece of parchment from her drawer. Unstoppering an inkwell, she took a deep breath before doing what she did best: Planning in the form of lists.

_How to get the idiots to cooperate: _

_1. Suck up to Shannon. She seems like a hard worker. _

_2. Write motivational speech. Give it at the next meeting whether they want to hear it or not. _

_3. Get Robert drunk and have him sign a magical contract. Legally binding. Can't get out of it if he tried..._

_4. Assassinate Head of Department_

No, that wouldn't go well... If she assassinated the head, the idiotic Deputy Head would have to take over and that would _definitely _not go well. Unless she assassinated the imbecile as well? But no, her silly boyfriend would be on to it and then Hermione would have to deal with the bastard, which she wasn't looking forward to. He always did have the tendency to stare and for some reason he smelled like wet dog hair. Gods, did he not know how to wash?

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Of course she couldn't assassinate anyone! They could potentially trace it back to her wand, and that would be an investigation she surely did not want to be part of.

Perhaps she ought to consider hiring a hit man. Where did one find such people? Perhaps she could ask Harry. As an Auror, Harry _surely _ran into cases like that all the time, right? But he was probably going to be a spoil sport and not take her request seriously. If it came to the worst, she supposed she could always try Knockturn Alley. That place certainly seemed shoddy enough to have murderers for hire.

Hermione sighed. It was no use. She tapped her chin with the end of her quill, wondering where to go from here. There wasn't _much _she could do to fix the usefulness of her current department and she couldn't very well just leave it behind at the moment, she'd not even been here for two years. How bad would it look if she just quit? What would she even _do _if she quit? Why did she even want to quit?

When Ginny and Padma popped into her office door with a loud bang, interrupting her thoughts, Hermione actually screamed aloud. No one _ever _came to bother Hermione during the day unless it was of absolute importance. Then again, no one ever got any important work done here besides her, anyway.

"She's still working!" Ginny nearly screeched when she caught sight of Hermione. "I knew it. You owe me a galleon you great big lump," she said, pointing a celebratory finger at Padma, who only rolled her pretty brown eyes.

"She's not really working, is she," Padma replied, giving Hermione her best _please tell me you're not working _look. "She's just..."

"Plotting the demise of my department, yes," Hermione said, standing up and brushing the invisible wrinkles off of her robes. She grasped the now useless piece of parchment, which had more than enough scribbles to last a century and raised it up to Ginny's narrowed eyed face. "See? No work. I'm sorry, by the way, I'd forgotten we had lunch."

"Aha!" Padma screeched this time, almost like a lunatic. "_You _owe me a galleon you great big hairy ginger! I knew she'd forgotten, now cough it up!"

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes at the pair, but just couldn't resist. It was always like this with them, betting, scheming, yelling, excitement. Things Hermione didn't have for herself, so she was more than happy to ride along as a third wheel. Every Wednesday afternoon, Padma and Ginny came along to her office to drag her away from the uselessness of her current employment for lunch. At first it had been just a way to thank her, but now it was a sort of tradition that Hermione actually looked forward to every week.

It had started when Ginny had come out of the closet, much to the surprise of her family and friends. It had even been a surprise to Hermione, who had been the girl's closest friend for many years. What was worse than outing yourself as a lesbian? Having a girlfriend in the mix.

It had been a very difficult time for Ginny. Her family had thought it was perhaps a _phase _(Hermione didn't know what kind of person wanted to go through a phase like that – why suffer if you had an option?) so she'd supported Ginny. She had literally been Ginny's only friend at that time and she supposed Ginny had never forgotten it, or Padma for that matter.

When they sat down at their usual table at the quaint little Bistro they all visited every week in Diagon Alley, Hermione felt almost calm. The atmosphere was _warm _here, warmer than her own cozy little apartment, and much better than the godforsaken Ministry of Magic. Everyone was nice here. They didn't take her for granted or assumed she was all that just because she was friends with Harry Potter and had a hand in taking down the darkest wizard of all time...

It was just nice to know she was appreciated, she supposed. No one _really _appreciated her except for here, when she was with Ginny and Padma (the only two people who really cared). Ron didn't give a damn, Harry was much to absorbed in his work to listen, her parents were in the beginning stages of dementia and she thought it probably was all her fault, too. She didn't have very many friends because people thought she was a bit crazy – and so what if she was?

But here, all the waitresses smiled, all the patrons minded their own business unless asked otherwise and she could honestly talk about her day with the two people in the world who actually gave her proper advice instead of "oh, Hermione, you worry too much" or "it'll get better, stop being so concerned".

In other words, everything else sucked.

"So, what's new, Hermione?" asked Padma, her mouth full of a pastry. She smiled sheepishly, wiping the crumbs off her lips when Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Sorry, loves, I'm _famished. _They're working me like dogs." Hermione wasn't surprised. Padma had been saying that every week ever since the Daily Prophet had signed her up as their newest editor in chief.

Ginny was pouting. "Poor wittle baby, all worked up-"

"Just because _you _get to fly up on your broom all day, lady, doesn't mean the rest of us don't have real jobs!" Padma responded in a faux angry voice.

Hermione laughed while Ginny shrugged. "That's what you get for getting a real job, darling," she said, staring at her nails to make sure they were even, even though Hermione and Padma knew that Ginny didn't give two whits about her nails. "Though I suppose playing on my broom all day should pay way less than a _real _job..."

Padma gave a theatrical gasp and reached across the table to playfully tug at Ginny's ear. This was a common occurrence at their weekly lunches - playful, snarky banter. It was nice, though, to know that there were actual people out there that were sharp and witty enough to combat her quick tongue.

Before Padma could come back with her sharp retort, which was really inevitable considering her track record, Hermione interrupted. "I broke up with Ron." She would have cringed, she really would have, and she had every right to considering that their response was very likely to be explosive. She was obviously right, as always. She _did _have her own track record to maintain, after all.

"_Again?" _they both shouted simultaneously.

Yes, she'd had it coming to her. It was an indisputable fact in her life that she and Ron had broken up entirely too many times. There were many reasons for it, of course. For example, Ron was a bumbling idiot, a pig, completely insensitive, duller than a candlewick that refused to light, easy to anger, and just...

Not her type.

There, she'd said it. It had taken her ten years of floundering to finally say it to herself. Ronald Billus Weasley was just _not _her type. Why she had been fooling herself for this long, she didn't know. But goddamnit she needed to move on with her life and she needed her two best friends to be there to support her, to _believe _that she'd finally done it this time.

"Oh, Charlotte," Ginny shouted over to the cashier's counter. "Hermione's broken up with my dear brother, again!" Hermione cringed, turning a bit red in the face and all Padma could do was give her a look that said, _you definitely deserve this one, love. _Or perhaps it was just a look of disgust. Hermione really couldn't tell the difference. If only Ginny would stop broadcasting her bloody life! "I know!" she was saying, "Isn't it time she just give up?"

"You need to get a ring on your finger, girlie! When you gonna meet my grandson?" inserted a man from a table across the restaurant.

Hermione looked up to find a pair of kind green eyes staring back at her and instantly relaxed. It was only Ray, the man that was here every day, rain or shine. Hermione had discussed many books and articles with him on her Saturday's off work. He was a pleasant man. He waved to her and she waved back with a brilliant smile.

But unfortunately for Hermione, the regular patrons and staff just couldn't help but give their helpful little pieces of input and it was imperative that she hear it all of course. Of course she ought to move on with her life. Ah yes, she should definitely give him another chance. Marriage? Yeah, why the hell not. Oh yes, yes, she'd definitely like another cup of coffee, thanks, and of course she'd do her hair better next time.

But, as it was, her temper was already on a short fuse. Eventually, she just _had _to stand up and set everyone straight about just how wrong they were. "Enough!" she yelled loud enough, praying for silence and actually getting it. "This isn't like before! Really, I'm honestly done and through with it all, so _please, _leave it be!"

It took a few cold and haughty stares on her part before everyone gave a shrug of their own and moved on. With a huge sigh and pink cheeks, she sat back down much to the shock of her friends. She didn't blame them really, she _never _stood up for herself, not now, not ever. The last time Hermione had broken up with Ron, Ginny, Padma, and the rest of the little cafe had badgered her and lectured for at least an hour without a word edgewise from Hermione herself. In fact, _all _of her fifty breakups had gone as such.

"So you're serious then, are you?" Padma finally asked when she was sure no one else was paying attention. "You're really done for good this time?" Hermione just nodded tiredly, shrugging, and busying herself with her coffee. There was nothing else to say.

"Then why are we wasting time _here?" _Ginny cut in, her tone donning the excitability that she'd always had on her. "We need to get shopping for your first night out as a true single woman! Oh and your hair is hideous, we're going to need to fix that..."

Hermione toned out Ginny's babble and left Padma to deal with the crazy lady's scheming. She supposed she could put up with Ginny's idea of a fabulous night (which really only involved a lot of debauchery and alcohol). It was rather worth it. The two most important people in her world had just validated her man-less existence.

"So Hermione," Ginny asked as they left the cafe. "What do you think about jewelled underwear?"

Well, maybe not put up with it all the way, then.

/

Draco did not want to open his eyes, even though he had been conscious for at least fifteen minutes. He didn't know, he hadn't been counting. At first he had been a little disoriented about his surroundings, especially when he felt a very soft, limber, _feminine _arm around his waist, a lithe body pressed up against his back.

As a rule, Draco didn't like having women sleep over until morning. It was fine if they wanted to nap – passionate sex _was _exhausting after all, and he was an animal in bed – but he expected them to be gone by the time he regained consciousness. But sometimes, even though those times were rather rare, women just didn't get the picture. The idea of sharing his bed for something other than sex with anyone else just violated his thought process. It seemed _wrong. _

But it was really odd, Draco thought, that a woman was pressed up against his back because he really didn't remember chasing after a girl the night before or a girl chasing after him. It took him the better part of five minutes to figure out that he was still at the club, probably in one of the lavish beds in the backrooms.

Which meant that the girl curled up against him had to be one of the gorgeous dancers from last night.

That had relieved him instantly, of course. There was no way the girl could want anything but money from him, which was fine. She had probably earned it and had every right to earn it, but she would never cling, never ask for more than Draco was willing to give her. That was the good thing about coming to the club for his needs. Everyone knew their place in the pecking order so it didn't really matter if he lay here all day with the still undetermined beauty.

As it was, he was probably paying for it by the hour.

When the girl began stroking his hair, he very nearly cringed. The gesture was entirely too intimate for him. In fact, if she hadn't been a dancer and he hadn't been at the club, he probably would've turned around and yelled at her until she left him alone to sleep another ten hours. As it was, he was still pretending to sleep – yelling would most obviously give his cover away.

"If you should want me to leave, you only need say so, my Lord," came a sultry voice directly into his ear. He shivered at the low, hot tone of the girl who had pressed herself completely against his back. She was most definitely naked, or at least _half _naked, either of which worked for Draco. Her arms slinked around him once more, stroking his chest lightly, her lips pressed just below his ear. "A man of your stature never needs to hide here," she whispered.

He shivered in response to her voice, which frankly was rather sexy. He turned himself around to see exactly _who _he was in bed with and to attach a face to the hot voice. He was met with a delightful sight. She was even more beautiful that he remembered from the main room last night, her body covered in smoke.

_Now _he could see her clearly, no smoke, no shadows hiding the mouth watering body, only a silk sheet pooling around her hips. She was clearly perfect, her bronze skin completely unmarred and smooth and silk. She was perfectly muscled, long legs, long arms, lithe, and just the right amount of slimness. Her breasts were the absolute right size, a good handful and topped with hard pink nipples that were neither too big nor too small. Her hair was long, chestnut brown, flowing in waves along her body down to her hips.

As perfect as her body was, it didn't prepare him for her face. He'd never seen anyone so beautiful. She was a perfect ten in the looks department, if there ever was one. She had the sharpest grey eyes, perfect nose, pouty lips, arched brows, high cheekbones...

Draco was instantly hard.

So she was a goddess physically, that much was a given, and she was respectful and appreciated his needs, so she was perfect. And she was naked, which pretty much made his decision for him. As he ran his fingers over the gorgeous woman's torso, making her smile, he had to stop himself from groaning. Her skin was smooth as he'd already felt, too smooth. Too fucking perfect.

"What makes you think I'm hiding, sweetheart?" he asked her then, bringing his wits about him.

He was always going to be a ladies' man first and foremost. He was _never _going to display his emotions to them. Never. It didn't matter if she was heart wrenchingly beautiful and _naked, _she didn't deserve it. So instead, he bent his head forward and began to place kisses along her long and graceful neck. She cooed, which made him smirk, leading him to press himself closer to her, dragging his tongue along her throat.

She had no chance to answer his question, because in the next moment he had her pinned under him, her arms stretched above her head, held down by the wrists. His mouth was on hers, then, sampling her pouty lips, which clearly wanted to beg for more but couldn't. She began to grind herself against his lower stomach, not quite tall enough to reach what she _really _wanted. It only made him smirk all the wider. She had to admit, he was rather attractive when he smirked... or paid attention at all, really.

When he finally filled her, they both moaned, she because of the sheer size of him, him because of her impossibly tight wetness. She had had him before in the past, several times in fact, but never did she ever get used to the long length of him piercing her or the rough, brutal way he preferred to do it. He liked it fast, liked them needy, and wanted them to _yell _at the intensity of it even if they weren't naturally screamers.

She raised her hips to meet his impossibly brutal thrusts, her head thrown back, his mouth against her perfect breasts. She couldn't help but moan, didn't even have to fake it with him because he knew how to get a rise out of her. His teeth scraped against her skin, sending shivers down her spine, making her cry for more, the sight of the smirk still on his face making her thrust back faster.

She finished much too fast for him and then two times more before he was even close to emptying himself within her. It didn't matter to him that she was thrashing, her eyes nearly rolling back because he just couldn't seem to hurry it along enough. All that mattered was that she realized that she would never get anything better than this, nothing got better than _him. _

Because he was the best, and he wasn't going to stop pounding into her until she recognized that fact.

/

She couldn't believe that she had skipped out on work for _this. _

Granted, work was essentially a useless endeavour at the moment -would be for as long as she had the urge to kill people - and Hermione genuinely _liked _Padma and Ginny. They were her friends, so she obviously liked them quite a bit. But that didn't mean she had to like everything they did, even if it was for her "own good", which it clearly wasn't if anyone bothered to ask her opinion about anything. But who the fuck cared about what she thought, anyway? She was only _the _brightest witch of her age, for Merlin's sake.

It was about five in the afternoon and Hermione was already exhausted. They had taken her to have her chair _chopped _and styled whichever way they liked, despite her protests. They had made her get waxed in places that would never see daylight, despite her protests. The girl at the wizarding salon had whittled her eyebrows down _way _too thin, despite her protests. And now, she was in her third changing room, putting on clothes she would never be seen wearing in public.

Again, despite her protests.

When she thought about the typical girls' day out shopping and all that garbage, she really had assumed it was meant to be fun. Genuinely, when she had called in to tell her boss that she wouldn't be coming in for the rest of the day, she had thought it was because she was going to go out and have fun, not be forced to do ridiculous things! Like wear clothes that were entirely backless and barely covered her arse, for example.

"Is there a _reason _you're making me dress up like a whore?" she shouted through the dressing room door as she attempted to struggle out of the completely inappropriate attire. "Because, really, I'm never going to wear trashy getup in public, you psychos!"

She heard Padma snicker through the wood and Ginny make a disgruntled noise. "It's not trashy and you don't look like a whore," Ginny hissed angrily. Hermione was aware that Ginny was becoming increasingly annoyed at her resistance to everything the redhead picked out. But it wasn't her fault. Ginny just had... _bolder _tastes when it came to clothes.

She struggled back into her slacks and tasteless work shoes, stepping out of the dressing room and nearly walking into Padma as she did so. "Where are we going that we need to dress up...like that?" Hermione questioned, gesturing to the large pile of clothes that she had rejected on the dressing room chair.

"I told you, a friend of mine gave me an invite to this exclusive club and I'm _not _bringing you if you embarrass me!" Ginny said, a note of pleading in her voice.

Hermione understood, she really did. Ginny had grown up with nothing and now she had everything she'd ever wanted. There was no way she was going to lose face with her fabulously stylish and rich Quidditch team members, no freaking way. She would do anything to be accepted into that particular in-crowd, especially because she was already so "different". She was willing to compromise, even if that meant dressing up in ways that were completely inappropriate and she sure as hell wasn't going to let Hermione ruin it for her.

And Hermione got it, she understood the need to fit in perfectly. Hell, she sure as hell felt like that almost every day. But there were some things that she really wasn't willing to do, and this just happened to be one of them. "I'm sorry, Ginny, I'm just _not _going to dress up like a slut, alright? I don't feel comfortable."

Ginny threw her hands up in frustration and stormed angrily out of the store, much to the disgruntlement of the already annoyed shop keeper, who had secretly been listening to the abuse Hermione had given to her clothes. Padma shook her head sadly, grabbing the bags Ginny had left behind.

"Now you've _really _done it," Padma told her, gesturing for her to hurry up and follow before Ginny had the chance to apparate away.

"I'm sorry," Hermione mumbled.

Padma shrugged, nonchalant and cool as she always was. "It's okay. I'll handle her." That was something Hermione could always appreciate about the other girl. While Ginny was a constant short fuse, Padma was her balanced weight of rationality. "_You _just make sure you cooperate with me this time and we'll be fine," she admonished.

When they caught up with Ginny, Hermione had the sense to bow her head and blush, not listening to the conversation that was so obviously about her. As if she couldn't tell with all the staring, pointing, glaring, and death stares. It wasn't _her _fault that Ginny was so goddamn unreasonable! She ought to just understand, really, that not everyone was comfortable flaunting their assets as she was.

Eventually, Ginny hugged Padma, gave her a kiss that was clearly not appropriate for public viewing and apparated away to god knows where. Padma walked slowly back towards Hermione, completely unconcerned that a third of their group was missing.

"What happened?" Hermione prompted as soon as the other girl was within earshot. "Am I free to spend the night ordering takeout?"

The question was too hopeful she realized when Padma burst into laughter. "No, but you're my responsibility now. Come on, we've still got a _lot _of work to do."

And all Hermione could do was groan in disappointment.

/

Draco and Blaise were once again seated in the very back of the club, claiming the most private seats that the place had to offer. Draco had a half glass full of firewhisky dangling precariously off one hand, the cubes of ice clinking together musically ever so often. But his attention was entirely elsewhere. As it was, alcohol was never an issue in this place. Someone would always refill his drink as soon as he finished without his notice. Draco was convinced that the club must hire people for that task alone.

He sat there, regarding his closest friend with vague interest. Blaise seemed rumpled, at best. It was as generous an observation he could make. There were probably many reasons Blaise appeared to be so dishevelled (and not in the good kind of way, either), but it was probably mostly due to work, Draco supposed, fixing the mess that had been made with the whole board issue.

But what was more surprising than his slovenly appearance was just the fact that he was here, with Draco, without even been asked twice by the latter. It was unprecedented and it had occurred twice in a row.

"You're not even going to ask how things went today?" Blaise asked, barely restraining himself from full out glaring at the object of his ire. "Not going to ask after all the trouble I went through to fix the mess _you _made?"

Draco snorted, staring at Blaise with his most amused expression. So that's how they were going to play it, was it? Well, that was perfectly fine with Draco. Guilt tripping just happened to be one of Draco's finer talents and he sure as hell wasn't going to fall into _that _bait, especially not with someone like Blaise where the consequences were probably more than Draco was willing to pay. "Alright then, Blaisey, my darling! How was your day?" Draco asked with a fake grin.

Then Blaise really did glare daggers and Draco couldn't help but be amused at his venomous glare. "Don't be an ungrateful bastard," he hissed. "Do you have _any _idea what kind of a mess you've gotten us into?" Blaise was seething, barely restraining himself from smashing his still full glass over Draco's pretty blond head. "Do you just not _care _about the future of your company?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You and I know it's hardly mine. It's my now dead father's, and _his _father's, and his father's. Not mine, because I've no responsibility to it." Draco shrugged at Blaise's angered stare. "What would you have me do Blaisey boy?"

"Try growing up and accepting some responsibility for your fucking actions! You signed the papers and you made this bloody mess, now help me clean it up or so help me Merlin, I'm going to quit!" By that point Blaise was fuming, openly declaring his animosity towards his friend by his gestures and stature. Draco almost felt a pang of uncomfortable regret for his friend, something he was not used to and absolutely refused to feel. "You have to step up sometime, Draco. This," he said, gesturing around him at his surroundings. "This won't last forever."

"It'll last as long as I want it to last," Draco muttered back.

The conversation was no longer of interest to him. It was just bloody uncomfortable, to be honest. But why? Why did Blaise's words even make a difference? Draco frowned to himself. He wasn't doing anything wrong, at least not by his own standards, and those were the standards that mattered. Why should he care what other people expected of him, even if it was Blaise? Blaise wasn't _that _important.

He didn't _need _the company, didn't want it, and frankly didn't deserve it. It was only logical that he wouldn't want to put in the effort to keep it afloat. Why would he? It didn't mean anything to him. And by God he was not going to let anyone associate it with him.

"When are you going to learn, Draco? You can't spend the rest of your life wasting yourself away in these dark rooms. What are you going to do with yourself when you're old and alone?"

Draco was clearly ignoring Blaise by this point, not caring about anything else that came out of his mouth. What did it matter? It wasn't anything he hadn't heard before, nothing he hadn't had yelled at him over and over again. It was something he had learned to ignore from a very young age. If you wanted to survive in a world where no one gave a proper fuck about you, you had to learn how to shout a huge fuck you and get on with your business.

It was his life's mantra.

And who was Blaise to lecture him about how he chose to lead his life, anyway? Why was this not something he was allowed to aspire to? What was so goddamn wrong with it that his only friend had to tear him down about it on a daily basis? Because this conversation was a weekly one, it seemed. The same words, the same message, the same place.

Why would his only friend force him to put effort towards something that mattered so little? It mattered _so _little that Draco could actually laugh at it if he weren't already so bitter.

"You're not going to survive forever like this, Draco," Blaise was saying. Draco was a little surprised that the man was still talking to him. Didn't he get the message already? Draco didn't give a fuck. "Why don't you understand, mate? There are so many other things you can do with your life. Why are you so _resistant _to the idea?"

Draco sighed. It was these conversations that were the worst. Blaise would not yell about all the bad choices that Draco was obviously making every day. Yelling was something that Draco could handle rather easily. Draco was used to everyone yelling at him for some reason or another, but Blaise was not scathing anymore, not unkind, not evil. No, none of that, none of which Draco was already so used to.

Instead, he was disappointed. Disappointed and concerned. Why he had any reason to be concerned, Draco didn't understand. Why he even cared enough to be disappointed was well beyond Draco's mental capabilities to grasp. But it didn't change anything. When Blaise was disappointed, and worse, _concerned_, Draco was forced to face the fact that the man before him might actually care.

And how do you tell a man who cares to fuck off? You don't, you just don't.

"Fine. I'll come tomorrow if it matters to you so fucking much, alright?" Draco finally snapped, only realizing that he'd cut Blaise off in mid sentence after the fact. All Blaise did was nod slowly, surprised that Draco had even given in. "Now, can you shut the fuck up so that I can enjoy," he gestured around him, mirroring Blaise's earlier gesture, "this?"

When silence fell between them, Draco simply observing his surroundings in a passive manner, he knew instinctively that it wasn't going to last. Blaise was Blaise after all, he couldn't exactly _help _his incessant harping. Harping was to him what uncaring deviance was to Draco. Draco knew that Blaise wouldn't be able to help open his mouth and ask about something that Draco just didn't give a fuck about – and expect an answer too, one that Draco probably didn't even have.

He'd _always _been like that, Draco supposed. Recalling back through all his life, through everything he'd ever done, Blaise had always been in the background, asking questions just for the sake of being informed. Why, Draco had no fucking clue. Of course he didn't _have _to ask Draco why Draco was so up Potter's arse all through school. Of course Blaise didn't have to be perceptive and figure out that he had been planning Dumbledore's untimely demise all through sixth year with just a few well placed questions.

He didn't have to, but he did. Just because he was that kind of person – the type of person that _badgered _just because that's what he'd always done. Draco honestly didn't understand _why _but he supposed if he wanted to keep a drinking buddy around for a little while longer, he could tolerate it.

When Blaise opened his mouth once more, Draco was not surprised in the least. Regardless, he sighed loudly before Blaise could even begin his question. And when Blaise finally did ask, after rolling his eyes at Draco's nonchalance, Draco was a little surprised.

"So, you've decided the date for your father's funeral?" Blaise asked tentatively, as if Draco actually gave a fuck about it.

"Sunday," Draco grunted, not even taking his eyes off of the girls gyrating on the floor. Both he and Blaise knew that Draco wasn't _actually _watching, but Draco had an image to maintain, so he did. "And his name was Lucius. You can call him that; he won't rise from the grave to smack you upside the head for disrespect."

Blaise snorted but he could tell it was completely forced. Blaise might be good at fooling other people into believing his fake emotions, but never Draco. No, Draco always knew. Blaise was probably aware of that at some level, because he cleared his throat and ploughed on. "And you'll be there, won't you?"

To be honest, at first he really had considered flaking on the funeral. It wasn't as if Lucius deserved one to begin with, what with all he'd done throughout his miserable life. Lucius had been a cold, proud man. Temperamental, quick to anger, judgemental, hateful, and entirely ignorant. He hated without a cause, subscribed to a cause that he didn't quite believed in, and made sure to make everyone around him as miserable as possible.

Yes, Draco was aware of _all _of his father's pathological traits. He had lived them, breathed them, _believed _in them to be truth at one point in his life. But that had all cracked eventually, and he'd seen what a sham his father had been. And then, Draco had chosen to denounce the title. Lucius was not his father, not his idol. He was nothing.

And he did not deserve the dignity nor the respect of a proper funeral.

Draco had thought long and hard about it, whether or not he ought to just have the house elves dispose of the body. It would have been preferable, but he hadn't been able to make himself give the order to the willing little house elves. The little creatures would do anything for him, of course, they wouldn't have even batted an eyelid at the order. Draco was a much kinder master than Lucius had ever been.

His past had stopped him and in retrospect he was quite disgusted. But it wasn't something that he could help, not now, especially since the tormentor of his life was officially dead and gone. Yes, Lucius had been a burden. But he _had _been Draco's father once upon a time.

Lucius had fed him, clothed him, given him access to his fortune. There had been times when Draco had been really young when Lucius hadn't been so goddamn mad. They had played Quidditch and Lucius had taught him how to ride his broom. It had to count for something, ought it not? At least, that was what his annoying conscience was telling him.

But what about everything _else? _He would ask himself the question over and over again. Just because Lucius had played quittidch with him, had taught him how to ride his broom, and mutter his very first incantations, didn't change the fact that Draco's face was more familiar with the back of the other man's hand. The pressure, the psychological damage that had been inflicted... There was no going back to fix that, no undoing it.

Draco was well aware, completely in tune with the fact that his father didn't deserve anything. Yet, he still couldn't stop the aching pang that said he just had to go to the funeral. Just had to. And Draco didn't do well with aches of any kind, let alone emotional ones. So, he'd decided.

Let the fucker have his goddamn funeral. After that, nothing more.

In the ending, Blaise probably understood because he didn't press the issue. Instead, when Draco gestured to the girl that he had been in bed with earlier that morning, he quietly got up, excused himself, and probably went home for the night. Draco didn't know and Draco didn't care. But that was expected protocol and Blaise wasn't expecting anything more.

When the girl noticed the gesture, Draco automatically began to relax. He was glad for the distraction, _needed _it after thinking about Lucius. He didn't like to venture into those kinds of thoughts because they made his heart clench a little, and that was completely unacceptable. But this beautiful girl would take it all away, of course, as beautiful girls were known to do.

She slunk towards him, her long legs literally glittering in the dark. She was rather striking, a figure that was imposing, but enrapturing such that his mouth watered slightly, watching her hips sway as she walked towards him. It was almost as hypnotizing as being drunk, which he was well on his way towards being, but she was _different_.

Even when he'd fucked her that morning, he'd known she was different. She was tighter, hotter, _wetter _than anything he'd ever had before. At least, nothing had ever made his head spin, before, during, or after a fuck. So, either he was fucking insane or she was just something else, something special.

He was inclined to think the latter. Bloody hell, he'd die before he ever went crazy!

When she finally was able to reach him through the throng of drunk, sweaty people grinding against each other, she slid herself gracefully around him, straddling his hips with her bare legs. She was barely clad as it was, her thin black barely there dress riding up further as she made herself comfortable against him. He knew they must look insanely lewd. He didn't care. He liked it like that.

"You called me, Lord Malfoy?" she asked, taking his earlobe between her lips and sucking gently. It made him shudder embarrassingly.

"Did I?" he asked absently, already pulling her hips against his own tighter. She smelled delightful. Something deep and fragrant, something a little like sex. He brushed her long tumbling hair back off her shoulder and kissed the bare flesh there. "I suppose I wanted to rescue you from the old bag of bones that you were...entertaining."

She laughed and he immediately decided it was the most delightful thing he'd ever heard. Quite a pretty laugh indeed! So much so that he wouldn't mind hearing it again. She glanced back over her shoulder and they both gazed at the man that had been groping her a few minutes prior. The man had moved on to attempting very poorly to dance with a small blonde waif of a girl. Draco could immediately tell that she didn't enjoy the attention but didn't want to lose the commission.

He laughed – it _was _funny after all.

"Then I must thank you, Lord Malfoy, for protecting me," his girl said, smiling brightly at him. She had dazzling white teeth and her grey eyes sparkled in mischief. "I just hope I can repay you." Her hands un-tucked his shirt, deftly unbuttoning the first few buttons before bending down to kiss the newly exposed skin.

Draco shifted slightly uncomfortably when her hands sneaked down under his shirt to travel over his abs. He was surprised how arousing that simple touch was, how hard he'd become from just her proximity. Had it always been like this with her? He couldn't remember, but it was weird, really. _That _hadn't happened before to him, not that he could remember, at least not since he was an inexperienced, emotionally troubled, deprived teenager.

"I'm sure we can think of something," he managed to mutter, causing her to flash a smile at him once again. He felt himself twitch and frowned. Really, he honestly had a lot more self control than that... he really didn't know what was wrong with him.

Unless...

"Did you drug me, woman?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

She only laughed once again, flashing her teeth at him pleasantly once more. "Pardon?"

He lifted his now nearly empty glass of scotch in front of her face before discarding it and pulling her head back a little too roughly by her dark, curly, long hair. He brought his lips to her ear, making sure to whisper delicately. "Did you drug me?" he asked calmly, staying close so she was able to hear his breath as it fanned against the side of her neck.

"No, Lord Malfoy," she replied solemnly, realizing that her fragile life was in his hands at that moment. More importantly, so was her job. "I would never do something so horrible."

He smiled then, enjoying her submissiveness. "Very good," he replied, leaving a trail of soft kisses down her neck. She relaxed against him and his hold, then, realizing that she was probably in the clear from his unexpected anger. All she knew was that it had gone just as quickly as it had come. "Now, would you care to tell me exactly why my body is reacting this way to you if you _haven't _drugged me, as you've claimed?"

She shrugged uncomfortably, wincing as the action caused unnecessary strain to her scalp where Draco was still tugging at her hair quite roughly. "I'm a veela," she responded, as nonchalantly as she could manage in the position that she was. "I thought you knew, my Lord," she added as an afterthought, remembering that respect was of the utmost importance.

He let her go after that, feeling much better, of course. So he wasn't crazy and she wasn't a sneaky traitor after all. But a veela? He'd fucked a veela on several occasions! Now wasn't that a story to tell? He realized that she was still timidly straddling him, not knowing if he was still randomly angry with her or not. So, he smiled as pleasantly as he could and soothingly stroked her back.

"You rather are beautiful, sweet," he gently said, hoping that that would be enough to soothe her. He wasn't the kind of man who wanted to spend all that much time _wooing _a woman. That was why he was here in the first place. But he wasn't a monster, at least. "Veela or not."

"I am told you say such things to all women," she whispered somewhere near his ear before kissing along his jaw. "But I will not hold it against you, Lord Malfoy, because you are charming." Perhaps she had gotten over it then, he decided.

"Not nearly as charming as you, doll," he whispered back, shrugging. She had really soft lips, he decided. She was probably the most interesting distraction that had ever been created, perhaps, and she was sitting in his lap. She really did know how to use her tongue. Perhaps it was time to move this elsewhere? "Why didn't you tell me before? That you are a veela."

"Surely you knew, Lord Malfoy," she teased, sneaking a slender hand once more under his already un-tucked shirt. All he could do was shake his head. "I come from a long family line of Veelas. My family is from Bavaria."

"I see. And are there many pleasurable and beautiful people like yourself in Bavaria?" he asked lightly, tracing random patterns onto her bare thigh. He didn't really _care _for the answer, of course, and she knew he didn't give a damn. In reality, he was really only trying to control himself and his urges. There was no way he was going to take her into a back room and have a performance that was...lacking. No fucking way in hell.

But she only grinned, happy that he wasn't angry at her anymore. "No, not very many. They are not a very... pleasure loving people, not in my village. But we, those that are bred of veela heritage, we give pleasure, breathe it, love it..."

Well, this was interesting. If there was anything that interested him in this life, it was just that. Pleasure – giving and seeking. "How do you mean?" he asked.

"We have a different way of looking at pleasure than you do, love," she whispered. Her hands began to roam his chest and her lips were freely exploring his neck between the words. When she began to grind against him, Draco thought he'd lose it. Was it the whole Veela magnetism thing that he'd read about in school and all that or was it just because she was goddamn hot? "It runs in our blood, the need, the passion, fire..."

When she began to suck slowly along his neck, he leaned his head back against the wall. His head was spinning from the pleasure and he'd long since stopped listening to whatever it was she was saying. He didn't mind if she gave him her entire life story, in fact he encouraged it. She had a sultry, sexy kind of voice. She could keep talking if she so wished. Didn't mean he'd pay a drop of attention, though.

"We want it with our being," she was saying, and hell that was fine with him. She could want him as badly as she wanted so long as the deed was eventually done. "_Crave _it until we can't bear to deny it anymore. It's a sickness, Lord Malfoy. Do you want to be sick with me?"

"Hell yeah!" he responded at once, delighted at the prospect. He grinned lazily, his mind a little bit hazy. She didn't need to ask twice. Draco didn't mind getting kinky, he rather enjoyed it from time to time, and if the girl wanted to get wild, she definitely could go right ahead.

"Have you desired anyone?" she asked him silkily, her lips pressed to his ear. He shrugged. Sure, he'd desired a lot of people. Did it matter? At the moment, he definitely desired her. "Who plagues your dreams, my Lord?"

Right. So the girl was barking mad. Was this some kind of strange foreplay? He'd had a feeling that veela were titched in the head and this girl definitely proved it. What was her name, again? It didn't matter, he didn't care. She could be titched and kinky if she wanted so long as she was in bed and moaning. Like anything else mattered. So what the fuck was she waiting for?

Her lips once again found his neck, deliciously licking and sucking their way down its length. She was good at what she claimed to be, he'd give her that much. As he sat there lazily, enjoying the feel of the girl's lips on his neck, he was suddenly surprised by the presence of someone who had just walked through the door. "Granger? Is that _Granger?" _he asked no one in particular.

"Is that the one you desire?" asked the girl in his lap.

Well, fuck!

"She's definitely grown a pair," he responded, not even knowing why he bothered.

But it was true. Granger had... well, she'd grown a pair. She was still all tiny and had lots of hair, of course. But... she was actually not too bad on the eyes. If she'd worn the short red dress she was currently wearing back in the day, he probably would've tried to get into her knickers! Her hair wasn't frazzled anymore and she didn't _seem _like she had a stick up her arse like she'd always had back at school. Yeah, he'd fuck her.

The veela was smiling and he realized that he'd probably said that last part out loud. Eh, he didn't care. Granger was all the way across the room and she wouldn't be able to see him from there, let alone hear him. But the real issue was the veela. She had raised her arm right in front of his face and had began to cut deep into her wrist with her impossibly long nail.

He watched for a second in morbid fascination before sputtering at the image before him. "What the fuck are you _doing?" _he exclaimed. He wasn't really into self maiming. Not at all.

But instead of answering him, she pressed her now bleeding wrist to his mouth and began to force him to swallow her copiously dripping blood. He had no choice. She was holding his mouth to her wrist with an insane amount of strength, something she'd definitely never shown before or given any inclination she had. He didn't stand a chance. It was sickeningly sweet, nothing like the coppery substance that blood was _supposed _to taste like, like how he knew it was. It was... different. Not too bad. If he were a vampire, he'd definitely enjoy the experience.

When she seemed satisfied, she smiled at him. "It is done. Now you will feel like we feel, Lord Malfoy."

He had to admit, it was kinky as fuck. The girl was clearly deranged, but he was much too lazy to go hunt after another one and _someone _had to take care of the arousal. Might as well put up with the nut box for a while longer. So, he tipped back the rest of his poison free firewhisky, stood up, and set the veela on her feet.

"I don't think so, doll. We've barely just begun," he grinned, albeit a little forced. She smiled in response, unaware of his anxiety. She led him into one of the back rooms and for the next half an hour, Draco Malfoy proved to the world that he was indeed a man.

**A/N: Did you like it? Too long? Too graphic? I've not written anything sexy in a long while, so let me know if it was awkward. Spoiler for the next chapter: **

_**Gods, he knew he'd fucked up, but why her? Why'd it have to be **_**her? **_**Out of everyone he could've possibly wanted to fuck into oblivion, why'd it have to be prissy Ms. Gryffindor, I am better than you, **_**her? **

**Unsigned Reviews: **

**Manitou2422: **Because you have private messaging disabled, I'm putting this here. I'm glad you enjoyed it and are fine with the length! I've been working on this particular characterization of Draco for months now so that's also a huge relief. Thank you for reviewing!

**Alexybath: **I'm really glad you like Draco, and no, I don't have any immediate plans for Blaise to die (YAY). I'm going to try my best to update weekly but I really cannot make any promises. Thank you for reviewing!

**Gin-gin06: **Hope the wait wasn't too long!

**Buttercup: **I believe you were definitely the one who requested this story, so I really hope you like it! I really hate cliche's and stuff, so this is going to be as original as I can manage. Thanks for reviewing! Really appreciate it.

**Alison: **Thank you! I definitely plan on finishing this in a timely fashion so I hope you'll stick around for it. Glad you're enjoying and thank you so much for reviewing.


	3. Nature of the Experiment

A/N: Here it is! It feels like longer but I actually made the one week deadline. Aren't you proud of me? And it's bloody long! I'm not used to writing such long chapters. Let me know what you thought of it! Reviews definitely help me update faster.

**NOTE: THIS CHAPTER IS ONLY FROM DRACO'S POV, SCENES IN ITALICS INDICATE EVENTS FROM LAST NIGHT.**

Thank you to my lovely reviewers: thfourteenth, manitou2422, Rose Eleanor Schultz, MisheardLyrics, oxfords, whitestripes123, Igw, Inkith, Alison, PoisonxHeart, Anortai, Amelia Raihan, xenaz3, tania15, Alexybath, buttercup, and Talis Ruadair.

_**Song Selection for this chapter: Nature of the Experiment by Tokyo Police Club**_

**Chapter Three: Nature of the Experiment**

_As he walked back into the smoky mirror room, he was lazily pleased with himself. He had left the veela in the backroom where they had been screwing like rabbits. She had happily passed out, glad that he still favoured her even though she was a fucking psycho, and he had bolted out of there as soon as he was certain that she was really asleep. _

_There was no way he was going to let a _veela _get all clingy on him! He'd heard some bloody arse freaky stories. He knew a guy who had a friend whose brother had been forced into a marriage with a veela because she had been smitten with the guy. _

_So alright, the story was probably bullshit, but Draco wasn't about to take a chance like that! Sure, she was hot, but no woman was hot enough to tie him down. He was never, ever, _ever, _going to be a one woman man. No way in bloody hell. _

_Draco made his way back to his reserved seats, all the way in the back of the smoky room. He loved it here, especially in the back. No one could see him but he could see just about anyone, everywhere, as soon as they walked in the door. It was as if he was king, sitting in his unobtrusive throne, ruling over his smoky, lust filled kingdom. _

_His eyes sought her out without him even realizing what he was doing, but he was much too tipsy by that point to even realize or acknowledge his lack of control. At _that _point it really just was all about curiosity, at least in his mind. After all, it had been about ten years since he'd really laid eyes on her in person, ten years since he'd paid attention to anything from his past. _

_Ten years was a long time, especially for someone like Draco, but it seemed that Hermione Granger hadn't really changed. At least, not much. Draco could tell that if she put on her old Hogwarts robes, she'd probably still pass for a school girl. She hadn't aged a bit. It was almost startling, the realization that she resembled something he had so clearly despised as a young man. _

_But she did look different, Draco could admit to that much. _

_The last image he had of her had been at Hogwarts, right at the end of the final battle. She had been wraith thin then, pale, dirty looking, but still fiery as always. If there was one thing that could be said of the Hermione Granger that had roamed the halls of Hogwarts, it was that she was fiery, prestigious, and too damn mouthy for her own good. He hadn't hated her at the end of the battle, not anymore. How could he? He couldn't anymore, it was physically impossible to hate the wisp of a girl that he had watched being tortured on his drawing room floor. _

_She wasn't like that now. She had colour on her cheeks, a little more meat on her bones. Sure, she was still annoyingly pixie like in stature, but she had breasts to speak of now and a rounder backside. Not to mention the fact that she had thrown herself into a tight, short red dress. She didn't seem comfortable, but then Draco knew she had never felt comfortable with all eyes on her. All her pictures in the Prophet over the last ten years just screamed that out loud. It was good that she didn't know he was watching her, then._

_Because if he was being entirely honest with himself, she was actually quite goddamn hot._

_He almost felt bad for thinking it, even to himself. She was Granger, after all. _The _Granger. He was supposed to hate her guts or just ignore her – not want to fuck her! It wasn't his fault, though. She had smooth, long legs, and long curly hair all the way down her back... _

_If he wasn't careful, he was going to be a goner. _

_He watched as she hugged herself, standing in a corner and talking to someone who looked suspiciously familiar. He wasn't entirely sure, but he could probably bet a thousand galleons that the woman next to Granger was one of the Patil twins. Which, he wasn't entirely sure, though it was more likely to be the Ravenclaw one as the other had gone off to one of the Americas. _

_Why did he even know that piece of information? He couldn't recall. Perhaps he had slept with the other twin? It was entirely possible. In fact, he had slept with many of the Gryffindors that had gone to school with him. After school had ended, he hadn't been entirely picky. Life was there to live. School rivalries were too stupid to get in the way of living it. _

_It was safe to say, though, that Granger was not on the list of girls he had fucked and forgotten about. There was obviously no way in hell that she'd sleep with him – and wasn't she with the Weasley anyway? Regardless, he definitely wouldn't mind it. He didn't know where his sudden fascination had come up from, but it was definitely making him stir in his pants. _

_That in itself was strange. He had only _just _relieved himself, after all. _

_He didn't mind settling for the sweet agony of patience, though, had done it several times just to test himself. So, he sat there, sipping on his newly refilled glass of firewhisky. He didn't mind just watching her, as she sat there twirling the end of one curly strand of hair on a long finger. He could see that they were painted red to match her dress, even from this distance..._

_Something the Patil girl said made Granger laugh and Draco had to stop himself from groaning. Not that anyone would've heard. There was no one around him. Granger's face was...painfully beautiful when she laughed like that. Like it was lit up or something cheesy like that. Why was he thinking like this? Why did he even care that he was thinking like a poof in the first place? _

_When a well dressed man offered Granger a drink, Draco knew he was going to be in for a long night, just to watch. Well, watch and make sure no arsehole got his hands on her. _

/

Draco groaned and pressed his head against Blaise's desk once more. His head was pounding, his throat was sore, and he felt like his body was on fire, not to mention that his bones were in the process of falling apart. Really, he might have tissue damage! He really didn't know how he was moving, how he'd even managed to get out of bed two hours ago.

And Blaise was not amused, but what the fuck did he care? Blaise should know he was in bloody _agony!_

"When I said you ought to take more responsibility, I did _not _mean that you ought to come in here and disturb me like this," Blaise was saying to him in his condescending voice. But of course Blaise would say that, Blaise always said annoying stuff like that. Draco knew his friend just didn't understand his plight. "Go home, Draco."

Blaise's voice was colder than necessary and it made him cringe.

Draco could only press his head a little more firmly against Blaise's desk. His head was spinning and he felt like he might just throw up. His body wanted something, something very specific, but he just didn't know what that was yet. Why did his body have to be so fucking difficult, anyhow? Why didn't his body just grow a pair of lips and _tell _him what was wrong?

A flash of pain spread through his chest as if he had been cut and Draco had to bite his lip in order to stop himself from crying out. As much pain as he was in, he was not a goddamn sissy, and he would never be caught whimpering like a pathetic rat in public! Even if it really only was just Blaise.

"Make it stop, Blaise," he heard himself say. And he hadn't even cried out! Point one for Draco. Now, all he had to do was stop his urge to vomit. "Do something."

Blaise sighed his insufferable sigh and Draco didn't even need to lift his head to know that Blaise was rolling his eyes. The man was essentially heartless, Draco immediately decided. Here he was attempting to stop writhing in agony, and Blaise couldn't give a proper fuck! Instead, he was probably waiting for the moment Draco took the message and left so he could get on with his goddamn work.

Why was work more important anyway? It wasn't like it was going anywhere! Draco on the other hand, well he might just be dying. He was sure of it by this point.

When Blaise did not respond, Draco glanced up to find the fucker reading some document or another. "Blaise, you fucker! Have you no sympathy? I'm dying here!" Draco attempted his best glare but it probably only looked like a pathetic grimace. The thought made him cringe to himself.

Blaise gave him another long sigh and his best withering glare. Draco knew he was in the process of taping into his everlasting patience that he reserved solely for moments like this. He realized immediately where Blaise's thoughts were headed, but it was honestly not like that. Draco was really dying. His head was not in much of a better condition either.

But Blaise was not going to listen to reason, obviously. He never believed in anything Draco said, of course, and his look said it all. "Why don't you take a restoring potion, then, Draco?" he said in his most condescending voice. "I've been told that it helps immensely with hangovers." And with that, he returned his attention back to the papers in his hands.

"I _have!" _Draco hissed. It was entirely offensive that anyone would think Draco wouldn't try something so simple first thing. As if he didn't keep a freshly brewed batch of restoring potions in his bedside drawer, as if he went anywhere without that little shrunken vial in his pocked in case of emergencies. Draco was always prepared for the eventuality of a hangover. He certainly wasn't fucking stupid as Blaise was insinuating at that moment. "What do you take me for?"

Blaise raised an unconcerned brow. "Then take another," he offered carelessly, his attention already elsewhere.

Draco scowled. "_I have!" _he said as angrily as he could possibly muster in his wretched condition, but his force was not impressive in the least. If anything, Draco seemed meek, and if his cheeks had not already been flushed with the heat of his fever, he definitely would've blushed.

"Trust me," Draco croaked. "I have, I've taken three since last night."

Then Blaise did put the document down, staring at Draco as if ascertaining whether he was lying to get attention or not – which had happened before in the past if Draco were to be completely honest. He honestly didn't blame Blaise for acting so nonchalant. He really had gone through the hangover ritual with the man entirely too many times to count, and the Italian was probably too caught up in more important things to care anymore – not to mention fed up to hell with the immature alcoholic antics.

But this was not a hangover. Draco knew what a hangover was like, was more acquainted with them than he would ever care to admit. Hangovers were not like _this_, this was almost like a slow agonizingly painful death. Hangovers were bad, sure, sometimes horrific on occasion, but they were certainly not like _this! _This was something else entirely and Blaise was just going to have to take his word for it.

However, that wasn't going to be too much of an issue because Blaise was actually paying a little bit of attention now. Or a lot of attention, really. Draco almost wished he wouldn't, just because Draco actually _had _looked in a mirror before he left and he really did look like shit. He knew he looked all sallow and his skin was grey, except for his cheeks, which were flushed deep red.

Not to mention the perpetual "I'm going to throw up" expression that was plastered on his face.

And Blaise saw it all with his goddamn shrewd eyes. He got up and made his way around his desk, which was still littered with documents, loose sheets of papers, dozens of files, and quills of many sizes. But he wasn't paying attention to the mess anymore, like he would do when anyone else but him was in the office, now he was paying attention to Draco, and that never ended well.

Hadn't that been the entire point of this?

"What exactly is wrong, then?" Blaise asked with the same nonchalant voice, probably just because he didn't want to alarm Draco. He reached over to press a cool hand to Draco's forehead, which only made the both of them cringe. "Bloody fuck, Draco, you're burning!"

"Told you so," Draco mumbled, resting his head back onto the desk once again. His stomach was churning and he would have liked nothing more at that moment than to just crawl back into bed for the next eighteen and a half years. Or maybe longer. Maybe he could just stay in bed forever and ever and ever and ever and...

"Stop muttering you great fool," Blaise said, attempting to pull Draco out of the chair. Had he really been saying all that out loud? Blaise was tugging a little too hard on his arm and if he didn't _stop, _Draco was sure he would throw up. And he knew for a fact that Blaise did not want vomit all over his work robes. That had been one messed up experience that Blaise hadn't ever wanted to repeat. Why was he still tugging? "We have to get you to St. Mungos, so if you'll just cooperate..."

Well, there was that.

Draco paled further, if that was even physically possible. He began resisting Blaise's pulls and attempts to get him out of the visitor chair in the office. There was no fucking way in hell that Draco was going to let the man drag him to St. Mungos, not if his life depended on it.

Well, alright, maybe if his _life _depended on it! But he wasn't dying, no, who had said he was dying? He was absolutely fucking fine, fine as dandy, fine as a bird – what was a _bird? _No, no, never you mind. He was just... tipsy. Yeah, he was just tipsy. He'd just take another restoring potion and sleep it off – it really was just a hangover after all! Blaise needn't worry, Blaise ought to just let go, Blaise...

Ought to not tug so hard.

Draco threw up all over Blaise's poor desk, his vomit drenching all the paperwork that had been sitting there. For a moment, neither Blaise nor Draco moved, neither of them even batted an eyelid. Draco instinctively knew that he was in the deepest shit he'd ever been and if he didn't cooperate with Blaise now, no matter how much he hated St. Mungos and all hospitals like it, he would never hear the end of it. So, he resigned himself and got up, Blaise stiffly helping.

He looked at the livid expression on his friend's face and suppressed the urge to cringe, which didn't pan out too well in retrospect. "I'm sorry-" he began.

"_Not a word!" _Blaise hissed.

One vanishing spell to clean the vomit and a horrid experience with apparation, Draco was found vomiting all over the St. Mungos' waiting room, much to the consternation of Blaise and all the staff involved.

/

_She was talking to the man still and Draco was angry about it for some reason. _

_He had no reason to be, of course, and he had no idea why he was in the first place. But for some reason, watching her with that guy pressed close to her (just so they could have a conversation over the music, of course!) talking – just talking, nothing more, obviously – it made his heart pound. And not in a good way, either. He was angry and Draco made a point to never be anything but relaxed. _

_Why did he even care? It was Granger! She was the know-it-all bookworm that had annoyed the hell out of him for six years, wasn't she? She'd nearly broken his nose and all that bullshit. So why did he not want a guy to be all over her? Because that's what the fucker was doing, he was all over her. Draco had half a mind to go over there and beat his teeth out..._

_But he stopped himself. He had to stop himself, of course, he didn't want to be kicked out of his own sanctuary. In fact, he was rather sure he felt nothing for the Granger girl. He was just... curious, you know? And the guy was blocking his view. That was it, that was all. Nothing more than just the view. Draco had always been fond of good views, right? And the Granger girl was an interesting one. _

_In the back of his mind he knew it was entirely more than that and he knew that no amount of brainwashing would make that deep seated anger justified or magically disappear. In fact, he was sure he was going to have to obliviate himself if the alcohol didn't take care of it first. Regardless, he was just going to watch. Nothing more. He wasn't going to go over there and break the guy's face, whoever he was. All he knew was that it was a bad idea. _

_Besides, he knew Granger could take care of herself. _

_She seemed insanely uncomfortable standing there, talking to the stranger. It made Draco happy for some reason, a reason he couldn't exactly pinpoint. She was standing there, her thin arms crossed over her chest, her posture stiff. It seemed like she'd like nothing better to just duck and escape – not that the man was all that bad, Draco supposed. Maybe she was just socially awkward. Had she been socially awkward in the past? Draco didn't remember. But why did he suddenly just care? _

_Perhaps he was just mistaken. She was pretending to laugh at one of his jokes now and the guy seemed entirely pleased, but Draco could tell how artificial it was, could tell it when she rolled her eyes when the guy turned away for a second. Draco grinned, insanely amused. _

_When the guy put his hand on her hip, Draco had the sudden urge to get up and break his arm, perhaps crush every little bone in his body. But Granger had beat him to it. Before Draco could even stand up, she twisted out of his grasp discretely whilst pointing over the fellow's shoulder. She slipped away while the man was still talking – presumably to her. Draco grinned as she stealthily made her way through the throng of people, hiding behind some tall gentleman. _

_The bastard never had a chance of spotting her, Draco could automatically tell, but ever the over achiever, she stayed in her spot, swaying to the beat so no one would question what she was doing there. Every so often, she would peer around her human shield just to make sure that she wasn't being missed, or worse, that the man hadn't actually found her in her convenient hiding place. _

_Draco didn't know what he would do if the man did find her. _

_Once she was satisfied, she visibly relaxed and heaved a sigh. Draco couldn't help it. He burst out into laughter. He had never seen a girl act so Auror like just to avoid a man. What was she, Ms. Impossible? What were his chances with a girl like that? More importantly, why was he calculating his chances anyway? _

_This Hermione Granger, the woman he just had the pleasure of reacquainting himself with from a distance, she was really something else. _

/

"I hate you," Draco whispered angrily, rubbing his arm where the doctor had run his diagnostic spells and drawn a blood sample. Bloody fucker, drawing blood samples so roughly like that. Draco would kill him one day, definitely would, had it all planned out. "This is all your fucking fault! We wouldn't be in this mess if you just hadn't-"

But he couldn't finish whatever it was he had been about to say. Instead, he grew pale, paler than any healthy human could ever think possible, and promptly bent over to throw up in the waste basked that the medi-wizard had kindly placed next to the examination table on which Draco was currently sitting. That was before he left them alone in the creepy room, of course.

The man had a moustache. What self respecting wizard had a moustache like that? He was not to be trusted on principle. Everyone knew that you couldn't trust wizards with moustaches. They'd stab you in the back with their wands.

"Then you would have been doing that all over my office," said Blaise in a patiently bored voice. And that's probably how he was feeling, too. _Bored. _What was his problem anyway? Couldn't he have some sympathy? Draco had just _puked _after all. He didn't _have _to be here and neither did Draco. In fact, they probably ought to leave now. "And we wouldn't want that now, would we?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. The fucker was mocking him! Had he no decency? "Fuck you!" hissed Draco, but quietly just in case someone else heard. Who knew? Maybe someone was poised outside listening in on their conversation. Draco wouldn't even be surprised. These medi-wizard folk, they were a real sketchy lot and Draco didn't trust them one bit.

Truth was, Draco hated hospitals and everything associated with them. The empty hallways that were always deathly quiet creeped him out. The padded shoes all the medi-witches wore when checking on patients were worth taking a second look on. Why did they need to be so quiet, hm? Why did they need to sneak around on their tip toes and eaves drop on their patients' conversations?

That's what the shoes were for right?

And the horrible clothing! They looked absolutely hideous. Even the itchy garb that they had forced him to wear when they had brought him in; he was convinced that it would give him hives if he didn't take it off soon. Not to mention how _cold _it was. How was he supposed to act normal – like a proper man – when all he felt like doing was curling up in a shiver ball of his own vomit?

But that wasn't _really _what bothered him most, if he was being entirely honest with himself.

It was really what the place represented. Why couldn't people see? Places like St. Mungos were places where people came to die. There was death all around him, death in this very room. Someone who had been dying, who had been bleeding, had sat on this very examination table, had bled and died in the very sick gown that he was wearing.

Somewhere in this very building, medi-wizards were cutting into human flesh like fucking sadists in the name of saving human life. Somewhere, medi-witches were mopping up blood, sweat, and vomit, and who knows what other kinds of fluids? Didn't anyone ask how it had gotten there to begin with? Didn't anyone ask if these people needed cutting into, needed saving? They were dropping like flies all around him, he was so fucking sure of it.

Ward for the terminally ill? Yeah fucking right! It was a room filled with pour souls that the medi-wizards had trapped there, for sure. They certainly weren't there out of their own consent! They probably got off on watching people slowly die, that's how fucking messed in the head they all were. And Draco was amongst them now. How could he know for sure that they weren't out to get him?

And the psych ward? Trapping innocent beings in a room so they could scream and slowly drive themselves mad at the sound of their own voice, at the sight of their own skin... It made Draco cringe, made him want to run away. Made him want to take whatever ailment he had somehow acquired instead of letting these shoddy people try to cure him.

It was all a fucking conspiracy.

What good could they possibly do, anyway? He was absolutely bloody fine minus the pain, blinding headache, vomiting, and...

The door opened and in walked Mr. Moustache the medi-wizard from before, as Draco had dubiously named him. Draco fought the urge to get up and run, no matter how much he wanted to do it. Instead, he chose to sneer. Sneering essentially worked in any situation. One really could not go wrong with a well placed sneer! The medi-wizard didn't even seem to notice, though, and that only pissed Draco off further. Who the fuck did he think he was, not noticing the sneer?

"There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with your scans, Mr. Malfoy," Doctor Moustache was saying, "But your blood work seems to be a little strange, so I sent it off to the toxicology level. If you'd just like to change back into your robes, I will escort you there..." The man checked his watch. "Or, you may take the visitor's life if you prefer." He stared pointedly at them.

"Toxicology...?" Draco asked stupidly.

What? Blood work? There was something actually wrong with him, then? That was just physically impossible! Was he dying, then? He knew it in his bones, he was going to die in this godforsaken building, all alone, with these fuckers he didn't even know. They'd probably torture him, too! No fucking way in hell was he going to let them cage him here!

"Well, yes," the medi-wizard sighed, the air blowing the ends of his moustache upwards. Clearly he had somewhere else to be. "Like I said, your blood work showed some irregularities, so, I sent it off to toxicology. It's on level five at the very end of the left hand corridor, you really can't miss it." He took a step out the door, completely distracted. What was with Moustache Man? "I trust you can find your way?"

But before Draco could even protest – he clearly did not _need _any toxicology bullshit as he was absolutely _fine _– Mr. Moustache was already out the door and out of sight. Fan-fucking-tastic.

He happily changed back into his robes, glad to be rid of the disgusting green mess. Blaise helped him hobble out the room, but before he could realize what was happening and protest, Blaise had shoved him in the visitors lift and had jabbed the level five button. Before Draco knew it, he was being dragged off down the left hand corridor. He knew he couldn't complain out loud, either! There were fucking medi-witches milling about in all directions. This was just great. Couldn't Blaise see he was sending Draco to his death?

And then, they were in the waiting room of the Toxicology ward. Draco had never heard of such a place let alone know that such a thing warranted a waiting room. Whatever the case, it just wasn't going to work out. Instead of letting Blaise shove him into one of the decrepit looking chairs, he pulled out of the strong grasp and resolutely made his way towards what he thought was the nearest exit. Blaise however, much stronger because he wasn't sick, just pulled him right back and shoved him into the disgusting plastic contraption.

"I demand to be let out of here!" Draco hissed. "I have rights! You're breaking the law by detaining me! Don't _make _me call my wizarding lawyer-"

"Will you calm the fuck down? I _am _your wizarding lawyer and people are staring," Blaise replied in his all too bored voice.

Draco looked around at the sick bodies in the chairs around him. That was creepy. He hadn't even noticed them before. There was a portly old woman next to him with a pimple the size of a quarter on her forehead. All the more reason to leave! He stared up pleadingly at Blaise, attempting his best to convey his discomfort at being in such a situation. Why didn't Blaise understand? It was all a conspiracy. They wanted his money, probably, now that the Malfoy fortune was solely his (and the company's).

"Right, well, I've got to get back to work. You can just get the results and meet me there if you feel like, okay?" Blaise said, breaking through his thoughts. Was the fucker serious? Leaving him here like this amidst all these…weird people? "Try to behave, won't you?"

"You are _not _leaving me here!" His voice cracked, he knew it. He widened his eyes for effect and he was already deathly pale, he knew. Blaise couldn't refuse that face, could he? No woman had ever refused this face, so Blaise ought to just fall in fucking line. "You can't abandon me, Blaise, please!"

So alright, he sounded like a fucking moron, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

But all Blaise did was roll his eyes, pat Draco on the head, and continued buttoning up his outer robes. The fucker was really leaving. "You're going to be fine," he said, in what he probably thought was his most soothing voice. "They'll just give you the results and it's probably nothing. I have to go replace the board you fucked up, remember? Remember ruining my life?"

His voice was still pleasant and sweet, but Draco could see this was all personal now. Well, Blaise would pay for this later, he definitely would. Before Draco could tell him just that, he was already out the exit (completely opposite to where Draco had assumed it was previously) and left the poor blond to just sit there, contemplating murder and misery.

What was better? A knife to the throat or an Avada? The latter sounded _much _cleaner, really, he could just –

"What are you in for, dearie?" came a raspy voice from next to him and a putrid smell of rotten eggs. What the hell? He hadn't given _anyone _permission to speak. He tried his best not to gag. "You're very handsome! My niece would love you, I bet-"

Covering his nose with his sleeve, he nearly fell onto his face attempting to get out of the nearly destroyed chair. If he knew that the toxicology ward housed such…such _toxic _people, he never would've come here! He attempted to back away slowly but collided with a nurse who only steered him back into the same chair he had been in. What the fuck was this, attempt to kill Draco day?

He glared at the nurse who only pleasantly smiled back at him before leaving and Draco could swear she was telling the other nurses stories about him. How fucking immature! Then he turned the full force of his glare back to the woman next to him, who was attempting to show him pictures of her just as ugly niece. What was the matter with these people?

When he thought he might actually vomit from the experience, or maybe just pass out from the horrific smell coming from the woman next to him, a heavenly voice called to him. "Malfoy, Draco Malfoy?" It was the nurse from before. He stupidly raised his hand and the nurse waved at him to follow. "Healer Toke will see you in a few moments, you can have a seat right here." And with a smile, she was gone.

At least he was away from the goddamn smell. Gods, he'd thought he was about to die from the stench of it.

He was thinking of making a run for it – there was no one here to stop him, after all – when a very short man in healer garb had distractedly walked into the room, startling him. "Mr. Malfoy, we processed your blood work with a priority standing," he was saying. He talked very fast, it was almost disconcerting. "We know you're a busy man, so I hope we didn't keep you waiting too long."

Well, sucking up was always nice. At least the man knew his place in life, and that was _not _keeping Draco captive in this hell hole. "That's…fine, I suppose. What's wrong with me?" he managed to choke out. That was the first and last time he was going to be polite to a healer. Never, ever again was he ever going to step into this building, anyway. No one else had to know. "Nothing serious?"

And then the healer sat down and his entire posture changed. Ever since he had walked into the room, even though it really only had been a few minutes, he had been moving, fidgeting, bustling around doing something. Now that he was sitting still, just staring at Draco, it was really a stark contrast. Fear began to bloom in Draco's chest at the serious stare that he was receiving.

"Well, you see, we've only had one other case like yours before, and it's rather _strange, _if you know what I mean," the man said, waiting for Draco to give his assent. Draco had no clue what the man was on, talking to him like they were friends, but he held his tongue patiently anyway. It was like waiting to know if you were going to be dead in the next twenty four hours or not. "May I know how you came past such a specimen?"

A few moments of silence passed until Draco realized that the question was actually directed at him. Fuck it, was he actually supposed to be paying attention here? "I've no clue what you're talking about, mate."

The healer seemed surprised. His bushy eyebrows actually shot up and disappeared under his overgrown fringe. "Mr. Malfoy," he said, slowly, as if Draco had suddenly grown a third head. "Why, you've ingested veela blood! Surely you knew…"

Veela blood? What the fuck? Was that actually _possible? _Did he even know a veela? Draco was used to waking up to strange things going around him. Once he'd found a bearded man and a dancer making out in his closet. Once, he'd found a dwarf strapped to his ceiling. In fact, once he had woken up to a goblin, an ex-Azkaban convict, and a very pretty gold digger playing with a niffler. But this was one of the stranger things he'd ever heard about himself.

"Are you _sure?" _Draco asked. Maybe the man was just crazy… Maybe he was just mistaken. "Can you… I don't know, can you just double check or something?"

"Oh no, Mr. Malfoy, I assure you these are absolutely correct." He went on to say something else but by then Draco wasn't paying any attention. When had he ever drunk veela blood? And _why? _Draco wasn't into that kind of stuff, in fact his stomach was already churning at the idea that he had done something so weird.

And then it hit him.

_Surely you knew, Lord Malfoy. Do you want to be sick with me? I come from a long family line of veelas. Have you desired anyone? We give pleasure, we breathe it, love it… Who plagues your dreams, my lord? Is that the one you desire?_

_It is done. Now you will feel like we feel, Lord Malfoy._

"Shit! That fucking slag did this to me!" he exclaimed, startling the healer who was now staring at him like he was some sort of madman. "What the hell am I going to do now?" he asked, staring at the healer who clearly thought Draco was turning insane. Which he probably was. He'd drank someone's blood and a veela's no less. No wonder he was feeling sick! "Am I going to die, or something?"

"Heavens no!" the healer said, much to the relief of Draco. "But there are some nasty side effects. Do you remember who the veela bonded you with?" the man asked patiently. Draco had a feeling that the man was being condescending, that he thought Draco was a waste of space that didn't deserve to breathe air.

_Granger, is that Granger?_

Fuck.

Draco really groaned this time, buried his head in his arms. "Does it matter? What do you mean _bonded, _anyway?"

This was the end of his life, he knew, he wasn't going to do anything, be anyone after this. He'd never be able to live it down. Perhaps he could get this healer removed and everyone who had seen the test results. Then no one would have to know that he'd done something like this.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy… you're going to want to have relations with the woman you're bonded to. It is, a woman is it not? I have never heard of a veela bonding anyone to a man," the healer said, amused. Draco waved his hand for the fellow to continue. What a bloody fucking idiot. "Yes, ah… you will want to have sexual intercourse with her among other things."

Draco's mind crashed at that point and he tuned out the insipid man sitting before him. Gods, he knew he'd fucked up, but why _her_? Why'd it have to be her? Out of everyone he could've possibly wanted to fuck into oblivion, why'd it have to be prissy Ms. Gryffindor, I am better than you, _her_? There was no possible way that he could manage this. Sure, if it'd been some random dancer, he could've just fucked her and gotten it over with. But Granger? How was he going to get Granger out of his system?

"And if I have sexual intercourse with _her_, it'll go away?" Draco questioned, dreading the response.

The healer nodded and Draco went back to ignoring him. What was he going to do? He couldn't very well just go up to Granger and demand a fuck. She'd kill him! Or worse, get a restraining order and then he'd be trapped with wanting her forever. This wasn't going to go well, he knew. He knew he'd just fuck it up. He knew he didn't want anything to do with Granger, not because she was a mudblood, but because she was probably going to kill him if he ever said anything inappropriate to her.

"But you need not worry. Eventually, the veela blood will circulate out of your body. I would assume from six to eight months, but you cannot meet the one you are attached to under any circumstances…"

He could perhaps ambush her at work? He knew she worked at the Ministry of Magic. That was something the papers always reported. So that was a plus. Maybe he could go and just have lunch with her, you know, for old times sake! What the fuck was he thinking? She wouldn't want to have lunch with him. And how the hell was he supposed to bring up having sex during lunch like that? Granger just didn't seem to be that kind of a girl.

"It is best you keep a distance, because emotional attachment only makes the connection between you and your partner stronger, until the need will make you sick."

What was he thinking? He couldn't face Granger. Especially when he knew he was like this. He wanted nothing to do with her! He had sworn to himself that he would never associate himself with anything from the past. He could probably wait the sickness out, couldn't he? He'd be fine. He'd just go back to the club and drink it off.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy! Best of luck to you," the healer offered, shaking his hand before stalking out the room. Yes, everything was going to be fine.

/

_She had found her friends again, the girl Weasley and Patil. They made an interesting group, he supposed, all so different. In any other circumstances, he would've gone for the Patil – he had fucked her sister after all, he was almost sure of it. But tonight, only tonight, he was sure he wanted Granger. He didn't know why and he sure as fuck wasn't going to act on the urge. _

_What was it with Granger, anyway? She was smiling now and Draco had a funny feeling in his chest just from seeing the goofy grin on her face. He couldn't explain it to himself and honestly? He really didn't want to. Let it last for the moment. He wouldn't remember doing any of this tomorrow, anyway. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that it felt rather decent._

_Not that he would ever admit that to anyone._

_Then, she started dancing with her friends. At first, she seemed stiff and awkward, as if she really didn't dance often. Draco laughed at her awkward behaviour, not because it was funny but because it was fucking endearing. She was absolutely adorable and it was obvious that she was doing it just to make her friends happy. _

_But then, her friends drifted away as the music turned sultry. He hadn't heard this song before, but it was obvious that she had. Her friends began to dance with each other, rather inappropriately and hot, but he wasn't paying attention to them anymore. His eyes were glued to Granger. She was moving and it was fucking attractive as hell. _

_Her hips slowly gyrated, her hands above her head. She stumbled a little and her movements were rough. It was obvious that she wasn't a dancer and that she'd had a few drinks, which only made it worse. But her eyes were closed and it seemed like she wasn't focusing. Like she was just feeling and that was something that made Draco's blood pound. When her lips parted, Draco thought he'd come undone right there. _

_And he almost did, almost. He had almost gotten up just to dance with her like that. _

_But then he knew that if he did, if he even attempted, the moment would be over and she'd stop moving. And then Draco's eyes would bleed for the death of something so beautiful. Because he hadn't ever seen something as beautiful as Hermione Granger moving in such an inexperienced fashion in the smoke room. As the smoke caressed her and the mirrors drunk up the image, Draco knew that he was a goner. _

_All too soon, the song ended and she rejoined her friends. Eventually, his heart calmed down, and he had to smoke a few cigarettes to calm his nerves from witnessing something so…so bloody sensual. She went back to fooling around with her friends and he continued watching her. They had shared a moment, something she was completely unaware of. But he'd seen it, felt it, wanted more of it. _

_Maybe one day, when she'd had a few more to drink probably, he'd go up to her, grasp her from behind and show her how to really move her hips. In his head, she wouldn't protest to something like that, but only look up and smile silkily back at him. In his head, her skin was smooth and she was a warm little nymph. _

_But he knew his head was filled with fantaies and she was probably never going to come back here ever again. Regardless, it was nice to dream. _

/

He was at the club, in bed with a very tall and pretty blonde. She had a button nose and she was smirking up at him, giving him what he was sure was her most sultry look. He had no idea what her name was, only knew that he wanted to call her _Hermione. _It disgusted him, and he knew she was concerned at his grimace. After all, he had never grimaced at her before all of those other times they'd been in this very room.

He attempted to distract himself by kissing slowly down her neck, but they both knew it wasn't working and they both knew it wasn't because of her. But he tried anyways, for his sake, just to attempt. He continued kissing her neck, attempting to lift the skimpy piece of fabric she probably thought was a shirt. _Hermione _would never wear this. Hermione was classic. Since when the fuck was it okay to call her Hermione?

Bollocks, it wasn't working.

"Right sweetheart," he said with a huff. "Up you get." She got up, wide eyed, staring at him like she'd done something wrong. Well, she hadn't. He'd pay her for her time, if that's really what she cared about. And that was it, wasn't it? That's all they ever wanted, his money. Why did it seem so cold now? That's what he'd wanted in the past, wasn't it?

_Hermione _wouldn't want his money…

What the fuck was wrong with him? He pushed her out the door and into the dressing room where all the girls were preparing to get ready for the night. They were surprised to see him there. Of course, it wasn't his first time in this particular room. He'd been there several times, and not just to talk either. But that had been well into the night and definitely not when he was sober.

"Line up," he grumbled. A few of them shrugged, several just stared, but they all lined up. All of them had been with Draco at one point or another during their careers and they all knew it was best to just listen to what he wanted. He surveyed them. "You, you, you, and you," he said, pointing to four girls in the line. They stepped forward and the others left to continue getting ready.

Draco almost felt bad for treating them like this, but they didn't seem to care so why should he? He was normally much nicer, had much more respect for the people who adored him. But today was especially difficult for him. They would understand.

He surveyed his selection. He realized that they were all brunettes, all with curly long hair… Why was he into that today? He gestured for the particularly tall one to leave. He didn't want tall, he wanted short and slender. That meant the one with the curves had to leave too. It was a pity, she was particularly good with her tongue. That left the two short ones. One had especially long hair, almost too long, and the other was especially pixie like. Bones and air, probably.

He went with the pixie, unsurprisingly, and realized only when she gracefully laid herself out in his bed that she was the one that most reminded him of Hermione Granger. He sighed to himself, almost hitting himself on the head. But it was much too late to turn back. She was already there. Might as well indulge in the pleasure, right?

/

_She was leaving for the night and it wasn't even two thirty, yet. He should've known that she wouldn't be much of a party goer. He also knew that he couldn't distract her and get her to stay. Perhaps if he glamoured himself? But that wouldn't work. He knew she wasn't here to talk to any males – she had avoided that guy earlier, hadn't she? _

_And Draco was too drunk by this point to make conversation with her. He didn't want to make a fool of himself, after all. Then he remembered his restoring potion. Yes, he could drink that and then at least say goodbye… That would be okay, wouldn't it? He looked up to find her shrugging on her coat. _

_Quickly, he fished in his pocket for the shrunken vial, enlarged it, and consumed it in whole, not even cringing at the bitter taste. In the next second, he was already out of his chair, transfiguring his hair to a dull brown and his voice so that she wouldn't recognize him. He just had to say something to her, just in case he never saw her again. _

_She was looking around as if searching for something when he reached her. He didn't want to seem like a creep, even though he had essentially watched her all evening without her knowing, so he reached for his coat to put on just to make it seem like he was also leaving. She didn't even take notice of him as he slowly buttoned up. He knew that wouldn't be the case if he looked like his normal self… why had he bothered with the transfiguration? _

_Oh yeah, because she hated his guts. _

_He ignored the twinge that that statement sent through his gut and instead pinned her with his sweetest smile. "Did you lose something?" he asked kindly. _

_She looked up at him startled, wondering why a stranger was even bothering talking to her. She narrowed her eyes at him in the most adorable fashion to determine if he was a creeper like the previous guy she'd had to deal with and Draco almost whooped in joy when she nodded and smiled at him. He had passed inspection. He'd get to say bye now! Why the fuck did it matter, though?_

"_Yes, I misplaced my friend…" she said a little sadly. Draco burst out laughing and she smiled up at him. She really was short. "Have you seen her? She has bright red hair, you really can't miss it." _

_Draco looked over the crowd and immediately spotted Ginny Weasley. He saw her consorting with the seeker of the Hollyhead Harpies, it really wasn't that hard to miss. So, he gestured, but she was much too short to see. It was insanely amusing. _

_What he didn't expect was for her to actually climb up on a chair, squint her eyes to locate her friend, and yell her bloody head of. It nearly startled him, would have if he wasn't so goddamn amused. "GINNY FUCKING WEASLEY!" she was screaming at the top of her lungs. Ginny looked up, clearly disoriented. "GET YOUR SNOT FACE OVER HERE!"_

_And then, she was making her way through the crowd to grab her friend and go. She hadn't even spared him another glance and a sort of melancholy swept through him. Would she ever spare him a glance when she wasn't wasted? Because she clearly was at that moment. Hermione Granger did not get up on chairs and call people "snot face", no matter how amusing it was. He wondered if she would remember that the next day. Or him and his unrecognizable face. _

_He went back to his corner, removed the hideous disguise, and watched her leave without so much as a goodbye. _

/

It was a fucked up experiment, he knew.

For the past forty-eight hours, he'd been in bed with at least eight different women who really all could've been sisters. In fact, he wasn't really sure if they weren't sisters or not. They all looked like Hermione Granger, or at least that's what he'd thought.

He'd fucked all of them. Sometimes, he'd done it more than once. They'd all enjoyed it, but he'd found no peace out of it, no relief. All he saw was curly long hair and pixie body statures. But that was as far as the resemblance went. They didn't have her voice, didn't have her hazel eyes, and even if they did have hazel coloured eyes they weren't the exact shade of toffee.

The veela had come to him sometime in those forty-eight hours and told him that this wasn't the way to get rid of his obsession. He'd kicked her out and told her to fuck off. It was her fault that he was in this mess to begin with! He hated her, despised her, but didn't have enough space to think about her because his mind was solely focused on Granger and the hell he was in.

It wasn't that he even hated Granger, even though he felt like he had every right to. It didn't matter that she was a mudblood – he had fucked several mudbloods since the war had ended and they all fucked the same. It wasn't even that she was a know-it-all stuck up bookworm who had tormented him for six years of his life.

It was none of that.

It was the fact that she was everything that he was not. She wanted things that he didn't have, no doubt. She liked attachments, that he could see. And she had morals where he was as amoral as they came. It wouldn't work, no matter how much he wanted her, he wanted to preserve his dignity more.

Because he knew instinctively, if he let himself even go near her, she would destroy him like a candle destroys a stupid fly. And he refused to be a moth to a flame, wouldn't sink that low. He knew he had to stop himself because she would never take him. His ego was too fragile, his ideology too weak to resist someone that persuasive.

But he also knew that he was weak willed and that eventually, no matter how hard he tried not to, he would go to her.

And it was going to be soon.

**A/N: So what did you think? I really don't know what to make of this chapter. Am I losing sight of my characters? Is it too boring? Do I need to take a break to let my creativity come back? PLEASE REVIEW AND LET ME KNOW. Until next time, here's a spoiler for the next chapter: **

"_**Was he bothering you?" he asked. **_

"_**I work with him, Malfoy…" she responded slowly. He was acting rather strange, but it could just be part of her imagination. **_

**Unsigned Reviews: **

**Igw: **I'm flattered you like my writing! Normally, I try my best to update weekly, so you don't normally have to wait too long between updates. Hope the idea of where I'm headed has become clearer!

**Alison: **Hurray! I kind of like the length like this too. Haven't ever attempted something like this before, so I'm glad you're enjoying. Thank you for reviewing!

**Anortai: **I definitely like variety, so all of my stories are going to be a little different (I hope)! Hope you enjoyed.

**Alexybath: **I suppose I have that talent. :D So glad you enjoyed. And yes, I'm feeling loads better! Thank you for asking and reviewing.

**Buttercup: **I'm definitely glad you think so! I've put a lot of hard work into this particular Draco, he's a lot harder to write that I thought he would be. Thank you for reviewing!


	4. Inaction

A/N: This will be the last update of 2011! Have you all had a wonderful year? I've certainly had an interesting one. Let me know how it's gone for you! I hope you all have a fantastic new year and happy holidays.

This chapter is dedicated to **Oxfords. **Thank you for your kind review.

And of course, a special thanks to all of my reviewers, because you each hold a special place in my heart: oxfords, Secretlovee, The-tall-girl-in-green, THESE VOICES WONT SHUT UP, manitou2422, Peppermint. Rocks, Inkith, MicekMucek, sweet-tang-honney, the-clumsy-one, Alison, loveroffelton, Neville's way to the portrait, Rose Eleanor Schultz, Akemi333, ilovecupcakes xxx, ndaniels13, KatieGallagherDare, Amelia Raihan, TwinzLover, xenaz3, Alexybath, Talis Ruadair, kittycat2312, IGW, JRRTFrk (x3), PoisonxHeart, and Strawberries and Cream.

_**Song selection for this chapter: Inaction by We Are Scientists**_

**Chapter Four: Inaction**

It was official. Draco Malfoy was certifiably _insane, _and he was more than willing to admit it to anyone who asked, broadcast it to all of Wizarding Britain. Hell, even the muggles could join in on the proclamation if they wished to. And why wouldn't they? It was a glorious day for everyone because Draco Malfoy had finally admitted to himself that he was just that – fucking insane.

Yes, he was insane, but not why people thought of him as such. Sure, he slept with any pretty thing that had legs, publicly spit at his family name, drank and partied all day and night seven days a week, and really was too much of a sleaze to really describe. He actually was content to accomplish absolutely nothing in his life. It was absolutely true – he hadn't worked a day in the last twenty years and was more than content to keep it that way.

So all in all, he wasn't much of a person to begin with. There were only two words to describe such behaviour in all honesty: _Pureblooded or insane_.

Draco was all of the above and proud of it.

But if anyone out of his crowd of perpetual haters had asked him at that particular moment he would've whole heartedly agreed with them about the state of his sanity. As he stood outside some random bistro trying his best to not go in, but knowing he would fail anyway, he knew it. He knew everyone was right about him. He was fucking loony.

Why? Well the answer was quite simple, actually. Draco was insane for one reason and one reason only. It was solely due to the fact that he had spent the better part of his empty afternoon stalking one Hermione Jean Granger.

If that wasn't insane, what was?

It had all started when Blaise had forced him to go down to Madame Malkins to pick up his new order of robes – as if the help couldn't do such a thing! But Blaise had been insistent, had sworn if there was one more piece of clothing in his office that smelled like vomit, he'd quit right there and then. So, Draco had been forced to floo down to The Leaky Cauldron and tap his sick self into Diagon Alley.

It was an absolute wonder that no one even glanced his way or commented snidely, because Draco looked utterly like shit and hadn't even bothered with a glamour. He knew the sickness that the veela had so kindly bestowed upon him gave his skin a deathly grey pallor. He knew that his clothes were rumpled, were stained with sweat, and smelled of vomit. He knew his face looked ghastly, knew that his hair was askew. Well fuck, he knew he was even shuffling his feet against the cobbled street. But all in all one thing was absolutely clear.

He just didn't give a fuck to do anything about it. He was in a rut so that was that. They'd just have to deal with it. And if they didn't want to? Well, he'd give them something to care about when his fist met their disgusting faces!

He had just been passing the apothecary when it had happened. His eyes had just been distastefully passing a barrel that was labelled _toad eyes_ when the door to the shop opened and out walked the unmistakeable bushy head of the pixie that had made his life miserable. He couldn't help the double take, or stand there staring open mouthed at the object of his unwilling affections. But then sense filled his stupid insane head and he nearly dove behind a table of women who were clearly at lunch.

He looked, no _searched, _for her, which was easy enough. Luck was on his side that day because she hadn't caught him looking at her or acting so stupid either. Why the fuck had he ducked? In fact, why hadn't he gone over like a normal human being and said hello instead of jumping like a fucking toad over people to just –

"Are you lost?" came a sweet, kind voice from somewhere above him.

He looked up immediately into a pair of unfamiliar blue eyes. Damn, he'd forgotten where he was hiding. He'd had the audacity to hide behind a group of young women. Though, why weren't they all screaming at him yet? He clearly looked like a leper thanks to the fucking veela blood. He squinted his eyes waiting for a reprimand, some screaming, scoffing, laughing, disgust, anything really. But nothing came. Nothing at all. He opened his eyes and was entirely surprised to find a group of grinning women just leering at him.

"Are you looking for something, love?" another one of them sweetly asked. This one was blonde, but clearly wasn't meant to be because her eyebrows were an obvious shade of brown. He shook his head, still in absolute wonder of what was going on. He knew for a fact that women, especially women like these, definitely did not like disgusting looking things.

"Sure we can't do anything for you?" the lady asked with a lecherous wink.

Now Draco was obviously used to women coming on to him as this one clearly was, but not in the state he was currently in, right? Or did women just like nasty looking things these days?

He stood up, glancing at Granger who was examining something in one of the apothecary barrels, talking to the attendant about whatever it was. That made him relieved. For some reason, he just didn't want her to be out of his reach for long. He wanted her to stick around for as long as possible, wanted her to be there forever and ever and ever...

When he turned around to stare confusedly at the table of women who were still waiting for him to talk, he caught his reflection in the glass door of the restaurant and did a double take - _again_. By some miracle, he looked...

Well, for lack of better words, he looked like himself.

His hair was back to its pale lusciousness, his skin had its normal marble glow, and he didn't look like a leper. Sure, he might still smell of vomit, and his clothes were a little rumpled, but he didn't look anything like a walking, rotting corpse! That made him grin, made him want to leap in the air and scream out in joy. In fact, he actually considered doing so, felt strong enough to do it.

On second thought, he felt almost normal. He didn't feel sick at all, didn't feel like throwing up, didn't feel like he was going to keel over at the stabbing pains in his body. It was all absolutely gone and he was right as rain. He ran his hands over his chest, just to make sure everything was still there and working and he wasn't dreaming this all up.

It was almost like a dream, though. Had he just imagined it all up? Was such a thing entirely possible? Or was he just going to wake up in his bed, regretting going to sleep in the first place? But, as he pressed his hands to his cheeks, staring at his own reflection in the glass door, he watched himself transform again into that disgusting leper he had grown to despise over the past few days.

He almost screamed at the sight of the transformation, but mostly because the pain in his body was returning.

And then, when he turned around, he realized it was because Granger was nowhere to be found. Immediately, his eyes began searching for her, attempting to find the source of his well being. It was obvious then, wasn't it? Granger made the pain go away and she made him look like his normal self. So it was only _logical _to go find her and just...linger in the distance.

He jumped back the way he came, right over the table of giggling girls, who really were just annoying in general. A breathless, "Sorry, ladies," was all he was able to manage as he bounded down the street.

He had no idea if he was even going in the right direction, or whether she had even apparated out of Diagon Alley to wherever it was people like Granger went. But something in his body told him that if he went this way and kept running as fast as his rapidly sickening body would let him, he would find her and feel better again. And Gods, he was going to do anything and everything to feel like himself. There was nothing more in the world that he wanted, except maybe to bed Granger.

He had almost missed her, would have if he hadn't caught her messy head of hair through the window of Flourish and Blotts. If she had travelled any further into the shop, which she was currently doing, Draco would've missed her and Draco would most certainly have cried – who the fuck cared if people were watching?

He could almost feel himself turning into his normal self in appearance. He certainly felt all the stress and pain leave his body as he entered the bookstore. He needn't find her, he was absolutely fine just _feeling _better like this. But his body wasn't satisfied. It had to see her for some reason he just couldn't explain. His eyes had to molest her body.

_Molest_? Just see! It wasn't as if he was going to be jacking off to it later...

Oh, who was he kidding? Of course he was.

He followed her all around Diagon Alley as she completed her errands and/or shopping. It must have been tedious for her, because she sighed at nearly every shop she entered and left that Draco could see. She was obviously going off some random mental list because she didn't go about her shopping logically. It was always up and down the street, again and again. He was sorely tempted to draw her a map, but was thankful too. He didn't want this to end.

If it had been any other circumstance, he definitely would've gotten pissed off. Who in their right mind debated which catnip was better for a half bloody hour? Who the hell looked through every single quill a shop had to offer before deciding? It was insanely tedious and he wished, almost wished, he could yell at her for it.

But each time he even dared open his mouth, the little voice in the back of his head piped up. Who in their right mind stalks a girl doing her errands all innocently? Who in their right mind drinks veela blood, hm? Who the fuck tells the veela that they want Hermione Freaking Granger out of every single other female present in the room?

There was absolutely no way he was ever going to approach the woman, no fucking way in hell. But in the back of his mind he knew that it was inevitable, that it had to happen sometime, somehow. And soon. Very, very soon or he was about to burst out of his skin. That much was for sure. His body couldn't take the torture much longer.

That was how he had found himself outside the tiny little bistro, disillusioned so no one could question what the strange fellow was doing standing outside the little shop, talking to himself. It was a good thing he'd thought of a silencing charm before hand or he'd have been fucking screwed on that account. That was it though, he was definitely screwed. Screwed if he went in, because she was obviously going to hex him, and screwed if he didn't, because his body was going to hate him for the rest of its short and miserable life.

In the end, the decision was made for him.

The pain in his chest returned, his bones began to ache, and the blinding headache made him fall to his knees right there on the cobbled stones of the street. He had no doubt that if he had eaten anything that day, his stomach would definitely have chucked it all up, regardless of the fact that they were in public where vomit was clearly not allowed.

It was blindingly obvious. Hermione Granger had apparated away and she hadn't exited the front door to do it – which should've occurred to him _before _he had attempted to stake out. Of course she was just stopping to grab a bite to eat! Obviously she wouldn't apparate from the front of the shop! No one apparated from the front of the shop, they all went into alleyways like decent wizards. He'd misjudged that one entirely.

In the end, she'd left him there, disillusioned, on his knees, sickened with his body and with himself, and all alone in robes that smelled like vomit. And when he'd finally gotten the strength to get up and go home, the only thought that ran through his mind was that the Granger girl had definitely distracted him enough to make him forget to pick up his new robes.

She was determined to make Blaise hate him for the rest of his life, that was definite now, even if it _was _unintentional on her part.

/

Hermione had been having a relatively good day that day, so much so that she had actually managed to smile at all of her co-workers. It was amazing, really, how much a simple smile changed her entire appearance, made people actually want to talk to her. Today _was _a relatively good day, of course, because no one was bothering her about doing work that they ought to have done themselves.

Yet.

But Hermione was fairly optimistic that today, a random Tuesday of a random week in a not so memorable year, would be the day that no one, absolutely no one, took advantage of her. It was a long shot mainly because ever since she had entered the wizarding world, someone or another was attempting to take advantage of her. But she had high hopes that day for no particular reason whatsoever.

That was why she nearly cringed when she heard a bold knock on her door and a bunch of voices on the other side, talking amongst themselves.

She knew it, they were here to ask for an enormous favour of her that would have her working overtime without pay and no praise either. Why else would anyone bother knocking on her door? They didn't like her by any means, thought she was a prissy princess. Yeah, they were all here to gang up on her! The bunch of pathetic fools that they were, it was going to be about ten against one – where the hell was the courage in that? – and she couldn't say no to _ten _of them, could she?

She had just been in the middle of bracing herself when the door opened. Funny, she hadn't remembered saying that it _could _be opened, lack of fucking manners! But when she unscrewed her eyes to take whatever task it was head on, she only found the messy head of Harry Potter poking through the opened crack of her door. Relief spread through her.

"Mind if I come in?" he asked cheekily, as if he was completely aware of what was going on inside her head.

She rolled her eyes and gestured for him to proceed, which he did with a grin. As cheeky as the man was, she'd always have time to spare for him and his shenanigans. They rarely saw much of each other, even though she had been continuously dating his best friend on and off for the past ten bloody years. In fact, now that she thought about it, she only really saw him during the holidays.

After she had given him the customary hug and kiss on the cheek, he sat down and stared at her with that same amused expression on his face. She couldn't fathom _why _he felt the need to look so goddamn smug, only that something was up and she was just about to find out.

"So, to what do I owe this unusual visit?"

He leaned forward, looking around him as if to double check that there really was no one but them in the office. She had to roll her eyes at his exaggerated behaviour, he really _was _like a kid sometimes, honestly. It was like he'd never grown up. When he gestured for her to lean forward too, she just had to. Not because she found it fun, or anything like that, of course. Just because... Well, alright. It _was _a little fun to be silly with Harry Potter, the boy who killed Voldemort.

"I've come to play messenger," he said in his most dramatic stage whisper, as if there really were other people privy to their conversation. "Don't tell me you didn't know!"

"Don't tell me," Hermione responded, already losing interest in the conversation. She was pretty sure she knew what this was about, why Harry was so amused, and didn't like it one bit. "You can tell Mrs. Weasley I will come to lunch when I have the time!"

Harry laughed and shook his head. "Wrong Weasley, but close." Hermione raised a brow at his expression. Why was he so goddamn smug all of a sudden? "Ron wanted me to come and tell you how sorry he is for acting like an utter prat the other night, wants me to come beg you to take you back and all that nonsense we go through every other month, so here's the card and all..."

He began searching his robes for what was unmistakeably Ron's make up love letter to her.

A part of her was actually rather flattered that Ron made the effort to force his friend come all the way over here to attempt to apologize to her, like he did _every _time they broke up and he wanted back in. There was just this tiny little part of her that was thrilled at the idea of Ron, him being good for another three weeks before fucking it up again. She was actually happy that he cared enough to do something like this, something big for _her. _

But then, there was another part of that was much larger and much meaner, and it definitely didn't take this crap from Ronald Weasley anymore. That part of her crushed any stupid feelings she might've harboured towards the fiery haired ginger in the past, stomped on it gleefully, set it on fire, and then smoked it like it was a bong.

Yeah, that part of her was really bad arse.

"You can take the letter and apology back to him," she responded sweetly and with a bright smile too. Let it be said that Hermione Granger was a civil person, and polite no matter what the circumstances were. She wasn't pining away on some stupid man, she was carrying on with her life. And Harry could attest to that now, of course, because he'd obviously sat with her in her glorious company. "I'm not interested anymore, Harry. You can tell him that and you can tell him to refer to paragraph five of my last owl for further information."

So alright, she'd sent him a break up owl. It was an indulgence, really, something that she'd had to do. She'd just had to rub it in the man's face that she was doing so much better without him and that she didn't _need _his stupid affections anymore! So _what _if it was just a little bit petty? Girls could get petty if they wanted to. He didn't have any right to hold it against her.

Not with everything he'd done to her in the past ten years.

"You're seriously going to make me go all the way back there just to come back here with another letter? Come on, please! Just make up already, he's _sorry." _Harry looked at her with the most petulant expression she had ever seen on a grown man. She hadn't even thought it was possible, but apparently Harry Potter could prove anyone wrong. "So I can tell him that you'll go to dinner with him, right?"

"No!" she responded, incredulous that he hadn't gotten the message yet. Was it so hard to believe that she wanted more out of life than an uncaring boyfriend? The man was too thick to understand what she wanted – no, _needed _– out of life. "And you can leave now, as well, I've a lot of unfinished work to get through."

Harry rolled her eyes, not taking her seriously in the least. It was actually quite insulting now that she thought about it. What did everyone take her for, that girl who was willing to put up with crap for the rest of her life?

"Let me read you what he wrote, at least-"

"_No!" _she nearly yelled this time, getting up and pointing to her office door. He had better leave now or she was going to draw her wand and get into a shit load of trouble, not that he'd care about something like that. "Leave now, Mr. Potter, or you're going to regret the day you were born, I swear you mother fucking-"

"Dearest Hermione, I am _so _very sorry for how I behaved," read Harry, despite the fact that Hermione clearly wasn't interested in knowing what was in the goddamn letter. "I really hope you can forgive my transgressions and that we can turn a new leaf. Hey, can you believe he actually wrote this shit down?" Harry asked, laughing slightly, not even noticing that Hermione was trying with all her might to push him out of her office chair and to the door.

"Get. The. Fuck. _Out!" _she managed to pant in between shoves, though he seemed completely unaffected. What was this nonsense? "You hear me, Potter? Get out!"

He just shrugged her off like she was some kind of _fly, _which only served to irk her further – and no one liked an angry Hermione Granger. At least, that's what she continuously told herself. "Blah, blah, blah...Here we go, I hope you will meet me for dinner at our usual restaurant, usual time, this Saturday evening. See? He loves you! Happy endings _do _exist!" There was a cheesy grin on his face that she desperately wanted to slap off.

Instead, she did the only feasible thing she could do, the only course of action she could take without getting fired. She left him sitting in her office and made a run for the lifts. If he couldn't bloody keep his mouth shut, then she'd just leave so she wouldn't have to hear it!

It was a brilliant plan in theory, would've worked too if she had some sense of direction and coordination. Somehow, she managed to knock over a stack of files, kick over a waste basket, nearly demolish a paper model of some facility that they were making for Grindylows or something, and knock into a tall, towering wall of flesh.

The last one nearly left her dazed. In fact, if the tall stranger hadn't caught her, she probably would've fallen.

It didn't matter, anyway, because once the stranger did leave her standing on her own two feet, she heard Harry calling after her, spun around too fast, and nearly tripped over her own shoes. That left her in a tangled mess with some absolute stranger, who she could tell was silently laughing at her if the tremors of his chest were anything to go by (and he _was _male, judging by the arms).

"_Hermione! _What the fuck? Why'd you just run like that!" Harry panted, clearly having run after her as well. "You nearly destroyed the whole building! What the hell's gotten in to you?" He stared at her as if she was insane and then to the stranger behind her who was still attempting to steady her, fuck knew why. Harry's eyes widened and the situation was becoming more awkward than she was willing to admit to herself just at that moment.

"Um. Um..." She looked around for the nearest escape exit or at least an explanation so Harry would stop ogling her like she were some kind of demented freak or something.

Then she did something she knew she'd regret very much but did it anyway, just be out of the awkward situation. She didn't do well under this kind of pressure, no one could really blame her, either! "I can't talk right now, Harry, I've a meeting with this...fine gentleman," she said patting the hand that was on her shoulder, "and I just er...forgot. That's why I ran here."

Harry raised a brow and his expression told her that they hadn't reached the end of this conversation. In fact, if she was interpreting his expression correctly, he was going to corner her later and force all the details out of her. It was a little aggressive, but she supposed Harry had always been a little on the overprotective side of things.

And when she turned around and looked up to figure out who she had dragged into her own mess, she realized exactly _why _Harry was behaving so oddly.

Because of all the strangers she'd had to pick, she'd not only nearly knocked over _Draco Bloody Malfoy, _she'd insinuated that they were on closer terms than they really were. Which were no terms at all. He was staring at her with the oddest expression on his face and she couldn't determine if that was because she was crazy or because he was actually amused with what was going on.

She sighed. If he gave her up, Harry would know that she was lying. So she tried her best to put her most pleading expression on to her face (which really wasn't that hard) and spoke loud enough for Harry to hear. "Afternoon, Malfoy, doing well?"

He shrugged and then smiled at her. "Well enough. Shall we have our... ah... _meeting, _now?"

For some insane reason he was actually playing along with her. It seemed as if he wasn't going to give her away! She knew there was a catch to it, especially from the way he was talking to her. Had she ever seen Malfoy smile before, especially at someone like her? It was insanely weird, awkward, and slightly attractive.

What? It wasn't like she was blind.

He was gorgeous, she was going to give him that much credit, no matter how much of a prat he had been in the past. And since he wasn't giving her up to Harry right at that moment, she'd give him a _lot _of credit!

"Sure thing," she said, relieved. Waving to harry, she walked back down the hallway towards her office. She could nearly _feel _Malfoy walk behind her, could feel his eyes bore into the back of her head. When the hell had he gotten so tall, anyway? And when had he stopped mocking her? Why had he helped her at all?

When she felt like they'd put enough distance between them and Harry's prying ears, she addressed him again. "Listen, I'm sorry for this..."

"Was he bothering you?" he asked.

"I work with him, Malfoy..." she responded slowly. He was acting rather strange, but it could just be part of her imagination. She had, after all, used him to get away from Harry. She supposed the interaction could be interpreted that way. "It's just Harry being Harry." She shrugged, hopping he'd drop it.

He didn't say anything else after that, only walked next to her in silence towards her office. But she could tell that his eyes were absolutely glued to her, and it made her nervous. What did he want? What was he doing here, anyway? How the hell was she going to get out of this impossible situation that she'd gotten herself into, with Draco Malfoy no less? He was probably going to blackmail her or something. That's what Slytherin's did, didn't they?

When they reached her office, much too quickly in her opinion, they both just stood there awkwardly. She had to tilt her head back to stare at him in the eye, only to realize that he was smiling down at her. Again with the smiling! What was it with him? He was acting rather strange.

She surely didn't have to explain it to him, did she? She was muggleborn and he was...well, he was a Malfoy. He ought to do whatever it was Malfoy's did. Not behave all kind, save her from having a confrontation with Harry, and even put up a facade so that she could get away safely! That was just...wrong of him. Why had he done it?

"What? Not going to invite me inside for our meeting?" he asked with a small smirk.

"Um..." Her heart began to pound. Was he being serious? Because if she'd heard it correctly, his tone implied very clearly that he was flirting with her. But that couldn't be right, could it? Malfoy's didn't flirt with Grangers. That just broke every rule there was in the book. "I don't..."

"That's okay," he said with a wink. "Maybe next time."

He made as if to reach for her, but then waved as if thinking better of it. He was out of her sight and down the hallway before she had realized what had even happened. It had taken her several moments to recollect herself and a few more to make her way back into her office to figure out what the hell had happened.

Much later, she came to the conclusion that yes, she was in fact insane for thinking that Malfoy would flirt with her. It was just an awkward encounter, one that she shouldn't pay any attention to. And yes, Draco Malfoy was insanely attractive.

But what of it? The fact had no meaning in her life. Draco Malfoy had absolutely nothing to do with her. One encounter meant nothing, certainly didn't account for changes of character or anything of the sort. He was still a Malfoy, after all. All was right with the world.

No one bothered to tell her how wrong she was and she was none the wiser.

/

It was rather obvious that Blaise was trying not to choke Draco with all his might. Even Draco could tell that and Draco didn't usually bother paying attention to such small details as assault. What was a little bodily harm between friends anyway?

Perhaps it was the fact that Draco's robes still smelled like vomit, that he looked like an absolute hermit in a high scale building, or the fact that he had told Blaise about how he had stalked Hermione Granger all throughout Diagon Alley and then around the Ministry of Magic, had even talked to her. It was safe to say that it was a combination of all of the above.

Draco had really screwed up this time.

"I can't deal with this right now," Blaise said, his voice reflecting the strain of forced calm. And it was obvious, Blaise _was _forcing himself to remain calm. Because Draco was a fucking idiot for even bringing such news to someone who was already so stressed. Draco should really _know _better. "I have three meetings and an interview to go to because you're an irresponsible fucking troll. So I suggest you get the hell out of my office before I pick up my wand and hex the hell out of you."

And with a wave of his hand, Draco was dismissed. But Blaise ought to have known that Draco never paid attention to such irrelevant gestures or requests. In fact, Blaise ought to have just referred to the track record. Since when did Draco do anything that was required of him? He was much too obtuse to see what was really required of him, he couldn't see past his own problems let alone account for Blaise's.

"I'm going _crazy _here, you know. I need you to come with me next time." Draco sprawled himself over Blaise's office couch with utter disregard for Blaise and the fact that he was actually trying to work.

"Next time? _Next _time? What the fuck do you mean _next _time?" Blaise asked him as if he were an utter lunatic. To be fair, Draco could see how people could potentially classify him as a lunatic. But it was obviously okay to stalk someone you were bonded with like that. She didn't have to know what was going on, it was for her own good anyway. "You can't stalk her! You'll go to prison, you fucking idiot!"

Draco rolled his eyes. Blaise was so bloody melodramatic all the time. Just because he was stalking someone, didn't mean they'd ship him off to Azkaban! It wasn't _that _big of a deal, anyway, lots of people stalked pretty things and _they _didn't get reprimanded all that harshly. Besides, Draco was rich. He could pay people off and stuff. That had always worked for him in the past.

But Blaise seemed to be more aggravated than usual. "You can't just invade her privacy like that! This is just fucking fantastic. First you ruin my life and now you're going to ruin hers. Do you realize who she is you imbecile?" he seethed, giving Draco his signature glare. "Do you realize what she could do to us? The company's already _in _shambles thanks to you, what, you want me to drown in it now?"

Draco sighed, his best most defeatist sigh so that Blaise turned away and rolled his eyes at the situation he'd found himself in. "I'll honestly work, I swear. You just have to help me... you know. Do this stalking business properly."

Blaise paused, weighing his options then. After all, he'd been waiting for Draco to make that offer for a long, long time now, years almost. And Draco knew that, of course, knew that it was an offer that Blaise couldn't possibly refuse. It was almost worth it, having to slave away at stuff he didn't give a goddamn shit about just to feel like himself again.

Because if he was being completely honest with himself, he needed Granger to breathe properly, to think like a normal, rational human being again. Without her, it felt like all of his power was being drained away, his sense, his capabilities. He couldn't do anything, couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. And all it would take to feel better was be in her vicinity, to lay eyes upon her form and breathe it all in. And feeling like _that _again, even looking like himself again, was more than just worth a few hours hard labour. It was worth anything.

And besides, he was tired of smelling like vomit. Apparently, Blaise was too.

With a large sigh and a flourish of his robes he shoved Draco into one of his desk chairs. "Fine. What do I have to do?"

/

It was a Saturday, and Hermione generally liked Saturdays religiously. There was no work, there were no distracting friends. In the past Ron would know to leave her alone every Saturday,_ all _Saturdays, unless expressly told otherwise. It was her true day off. Not like Sundays, where she probably ought to visit her parents and the Weasleys, Harry, Ginny, Padma, etc. It wasn't the day where people from work owled her for last minute help on something, like they were in fucking school still.

No, every Saturday was her holy day of rest.

And it had started off rather well this week too. She had woken up at noon and had secretly enjoyed the guilty pleasure of sleeping in so abysmally late. She'd taken the longest, hottest shower she had all week, it must've taken an hour at the very least! And now, sitting there with the morning paper and her breakfast of eggs and toast, she was more relaxed than she had been all week.

Sure, strange things had been going on and her life was completely different now because she'd finally moved the fuck on, but at least she would have this. At the very least, she would have her day of rest, uninterrupted, as she preferred.

Stretching in her kitchen table chair, she nearly knocked herself over when she saw a rumpled looking owl sitting patiently on her window sill, just watching her. Hermione thought she was surely becoming paranoid, but the owl was bloody _watching _her with its big round eyes. She waved tentatively at it, but it only blinked back at her.

_Obviously. It's a fucking owl. It can't wave. _

That was when she realized that it wasn't sitting there, staring at her, it was trying its best to hang onto the stone ledge of her flat building. She could barely make out the string of the package that was precariously dangling off the owl's little feet, but it was obvious that it was much too heavy for the poor bird to be carrying alone.

She rushed to the window and immediately lifted the tired little bird and it's disproportionately large payload into the room. It hooted thankfully and she smiled as she smoothed down its feathers. After she'd fed it some of her toast and gotten it a bowl of water to sip from, she realized just how worn out the poor thing was.

But that wasn't surprising. Some idiot had tied a bouquet of flowers and a heavy box of chocolates to the poor little creature's feet. What kind of imbecile did something like that, anyway? Didn't they _know _they'd need more than one bird to send a package of this size? It was a wonder the little bird hadn't died on the journey! And as she reached curiously towards the card, she momentarily forgot that she didn't _have _anyone who'd want to send her flowers and chocolate.

_Dear Hermione, _it said.

_Harry tells me that you've gone off your rocker. He also said you won't have dinner with me. Why? You know that I didn't mean any of it and that I love you. I love you more than my own mother! I'd quit my job for you! Can I please just come see you now? _

_I've attached your favourite flowers _(they weren't her favourite flowers) _and your most favourite chocolates _(Nope, they were his favourite chocolates!) _and hope that you will reconsider our dinner plans. Please? I really am sorry. I don't even remember much of what I said but I know it wasn't that bad that you never want to speak to me again. _

_Please. _

_Love, _

_Ron. _

For a moment, she did nothing. She just stared at the items her idiot ex boyfriend had sent her and regarded them as blankly as she would new parchment. What was she supposed to think about this? In the past she would've gotten up, gone over to his flat, yell at him for a good hour or two until he was a cowering mess, and then they'd make up.

Today, Hermione decided she would take a different course of action. She knew he was waiting for her to come over, knew that he expected this pathetic attempt at apologizing to work. Well, it wouldn't. And she was fucking tired of him being so bloody _thick _all the time. She was no one's fucking push over! How dare he treat her like this?

How had she let him treat her like this for the past ten years?

But it had been longer than that, hadn't it? She had spent _seventeen_ years of her life being pushed around by Ron Weasley. And it had been so simple at first, simple enough as pushing her in the corner when it came time to play chess. Or copying off her homework last minute, asking her questions that he knew she would answer. And what had he given her in return? Stupid smiles, half hearted thanks, jokes about her hair and the way she dressed. He was an insensitive prick, but he'd been that way for so long that she'd just accepted it as her reality.

Well, it sure as fuck wasn't going to be her reality anymore! She got up, seething silently, her anger nearly making her shake. She took the goddamned flowers and chocolates, put them in her waste basket and promptly set it on fire. Then, she stood there and watched it burn to a crisp.

And then, she did it all over again, until all that remained at the bottom of her dustbin was a fine pile of ash, so fine in fact that it could be mistaken as phoenix ashes. It gave her some kind of sick satisfaction, watching the destruction she had caused. It made her disturbingly happy to see the damage that she'd done, to see that she had the power to destroy things if she wanted to.

But then, that feeling faded away and she realized that she was suffocating. The four walls of her home were closing around her, and all she wanted to do was go to bed and cry. Because really, deep down, she was a weak person and all of these things rather hurt.

But before she could let the grief consume her, before the walls around her collapsed on top of her head, she ran for the door and apparated to wherever her body would take her. It was a defensive measure, sure, but it was better than staying at home and crying her eyes out over some guy that clearly didn't deserve her. She would rather die. She would rather kiss a toad. In fact, she'd rather be single for the rest of her life.

Not that that was impossible.

And just like that, she knew that Ron had ruined her Saturday, her only day of rest during the week and she hated him all the more. It was blind hatred, something she hadn't anticipated of herself, or of him to be honest. She had never blindly hated anyone before, there had always been very good reasons for any hatred she chose to feel. But now she knew what it felt like to just illogically hate everything someone did, no matter if it was annoying or not. Ronald Weasley was going to get it.

She found herself outside her usual haunt on Saturdays. She saved her weekly trip to Flourish and Blotts for Saturdays because she could literally spend hours just skimming the titles and losing herself among pages that she knew truly appreciated her. Everyone in the store was kind to her and didn't mind that she stayed there so long. It was the kind of atmosphere that she wished would follow her everywhere.

Squaring her shoulders, she walked confidently through the door, waving at whoever was at the cash register. It didn't matter who it was, they all knew her by name.

She had just been in the middle of deciding what topic she ought to peruse that day, when she caught sight of a flash of blonde by the Arithmancy section. It gave her pause and gave her a chill down her spine to see it, and she couldn't understand why. Her limbs inched closer without consulting her, and she realized that she was within hearing distance of him before she even realized what she had done.

It appeared Malfoy was arguing with someone and that someone was arguing back. She realized that he had a smooth voice, even when he was irritated like he was now. And he was tall. But she'd noticed that yesterday. When had he gotten so tall? And so broad shouldered? She shook her head. Not everyone was like her. She knew if she put on her old Hogwarts robes, she'd look like a bloody seventh year.

"...Comes here _every _Saturday," Malfoy said.

"You can't possibly expect me to stay here all this time, you nitwit! I'm leaving."

She heard a rustle of robes, and she realized that they were physically fighting with each other now! She hesitantly peered around the corner of the shelf she was hiding behind to find Malfoy physically restraining a man who looked like Blaise Zabini. It was hilarious because Blaise was flailing, swearing in Italian, and repeatedly punching Draco in the stomach – which looked like it really hurt.

"Stop. Fucking. _Struggling!" _Malfoy gasped and she nearly giggled at the tone of his voice. He sounded out of breath, strained, and a little bit like an angry hippogriff. That only made her want to laugh more, considering his past experiences with the animal. "I swear, if you don't help me, Merlin help you because I am going to strangle you-"

"Fuck you!" Blaise was hissing, now twisting out of his grasp quite deftly. "I'm leaving and you better come with me you bloody imbecile! If anyone finds out-"

"How the fuck can anyone find out?" Malfoy asked, an incredulous expression on his face. Were they doing something illegal? Hermione's ears perked. This would be interesting. Perhaps that's why he was at the Ministry the other day? "I _told _you I'm not doing anything wrong, arse bags-"

"You mean, you don't think _stal-"_

"Oh, Ms. Granger!" came a voice from behind her, so loud that Hermione nearly jumped and cringed at the same time. Blaise and Draco whipped around and stared at her wide eyed now that her hiding spot had been revealed. She immediately realized what a ridiculous thing she'd been doing – had nearly been caught doing. "Is there anything you need help with today?"

She quickly shook her head, just wanting to disappear. Maybe she could make a run for it and they wouldn't come rushing after her. After all, she hadn't really heard anything incriminating. "No, just browsing. Actually I was just leaving-"

"Oh, that's okay, let me know though! I'll be right over there," the overly helpful shop assistant said, pointing to the cash register. "Let me know if you need _anything." _

The shop assistant walked away then, leaving the three of them frozen in a moment of awkward silence. But before she could make a dash for it, Blaise straightened up and brightly smiled at her. It was so startling, she was once again stunned into silence.

"Well! I'm off!" he exclaimed cheerfully, patting Draco roughly on the shoulder.

Draco glared. "You better _not-"_

"I'll see you at work then, Draco, old pal!" Blaise interrupted, the grin on his face only widening. "We've a meeting at six, mind not to be late, yeah? No matter how _occupied _you might become." He said that last part with a glance over at Hermione, and she almost wanted to ask what the fuck he was talking about.

And then he was gone, leaving Draco open mouthed and Hermione bloody confused. At first, they both remained quite quiet, just because they were probably processing what they had gotten themselves into. She probably ought to hurry away by that point and he knew he had to say something because this was going to get really awkward really fast if he didn't. But he was afraid of rejection and she was frozen to her spot, not sure what to do or what to say.

"Hi, Granger," he started, eventually.

That and nothing more. "Hi, Malfoy," she responded, evenly. "I'm just going to get going-"

"Doing alright?" he questioned, rudely interrupting her attempt to just _leave. _What was it with everyone interrupting her today? He seemed nonchalant about it talking to her, asking her such personal questions, but she could see the strain in his eyes. "You look... perturbed. Something happen?"

She paused, considering him. Why would anything be wrong with her? More importantly, why would she bother telling him? She barely knew the guy and when she had known him he'd been a bully. Not that she was holding that against him, or anything.

But the real question was, was she really that transparent? That couldn't possibly be the case since never once when she'd been depressed had her closest friends noticed, had her parents noticed, or really anyone in her life. No one had ever really, so she'd just assumed that she was quite good at hiding her feelings. So either Malfoy was extremely good at reading people or she had no real friends. It was obviously the former.

_Obviously. _

Feeling thoroughly perplexed at the random situation she'd found herself in for the second time that week, she glanced up to find Malfoy standing closer to her than she'd expected. She hadn't noticed exactly when he'd moved closer, but she could see the tension in his shoulders by the way he held himself. She wondered what was wrong with him or even what was going through his head. Judging by the expression on his face, nothing very pleasant.

She wondered if those thoughts had anything to do with her. She _was _after all a mudblood, something Malfoy had notoriously hated. Why the hell was she standing here? More importantly, why was _he _standing there with her?

"Well? You don't have to tell me, of course," he said, letting out a deep breath and plastering a smile on his face. She could immediately tell that it was insincere and he knew that she was aware of it. She didn't know that he was aching to reach out and touch her. She could never know.

"But if you should wish to... I'd be more than happy to lend an ear."

The offer startled her. His voice was charming and he was standing close enough to smell his cologne, which was musky. Ron would _never _wear cologne, even when she'd bought it for him for his birthday, because Ron was an ungrateful brat. Ron had never once asked if she was okay. Ron had had seventeen years of opportunities.

What the fuck was going on?

Suddenly, his hand was on her shoulder, gripping her a little tighter than strictly necessary. He pressed her back against the bookshelf directly behind her and she had the urge to scream. It was by sheer luck she noticed that he'd only done it because a group of people were passing by them and he was technically only making space.

But making space didn't require pressing up against someone like that, Hermione knew that for sure. Or, cradling her shoulder with his hand like he knew her intimately or something. She felt a chill go down her spine and a shudder wracked her when he finally let her go, long after the people had passed.

"Um...Yeah, I'm going to..." was all she could offer.

"See you around, Granger," he offered with a shrug.

It was only hours after he had gone and she was back in her apartment that she realized he had bent down a little closer than necessary to whisper that to her. And maybe, just maybe, he had brushed his lips lightly just below her ear before he had disappeared into the shelves and possibly out of the store. She wasn't aware, wasn't sure if that had actually happened, or if her overactive imagination was making it up for her.

All she knew was that Malfoy was acting more charming than he had any right to be and that she had seen him more times in this one week than she had in the past ten years. It was almost criminal to think that she didn't mind it in the least.

/

And indeed, it truly _was _official now. Draco Malfoy had lost his mind.

Whether it was from the scent of her that roamed his mind, or the fact that he could not imagine her with another but himself – or the small little fact that he would not _let _her be with another but himself. It was established. He had lost his sanity. Perhaps it was the sound of her voice or the feel of her skin. Maybe it was just the way she _looked _at him, curiously with her big toffee coloured eyes like she had a right to judge him. He didn't care if she judged him.

It didn't matter _why _he was insane, only that he was and that it was entirely her fault. Her fault alone.

Alright, perhaps half his.

He pressed his back against the hard stone wall, sighing when he realized he was already sore. It hadn't even been a couple of hours and already his body was protesting. But he felt good still. He felt like himself. And he knew why, of course. He would be stupid not to know why.

He hadn't been able to stop himself, watching her for the rest of the afternoon. He knew he'd completely lost it when he'd followed her all the way back to her flat. She hadn't seen him and he hadn't bothered showing himself. After that meeting they'd had at the book store, he wasn't eager to make a fool of himself again. But if he could...

He had no one to stop him. He really _could _if he wanted to. And she wouldn't say no, no one ever said no to him. He didn't have any relative friends to make him stop doing this again and again. So he was going to stick with it. He was going to stick with her.

And she was going to accept it, goddamnit, if it was the last thing she ever did.

**A/N: So, what did you think? I didn't take much of a break, but this chapter did take much longer to write than I had anticipated. I am also looking for a beta! Not for this story, but for When a Stranger Calls. Let me know if you're interested. **

**Here's a spoiler for next week: **

"_**If I find you here one more bloody time I'm going to file for a restraining order!" she said, much louder than necessary in his opinion. **_

**Unsigned Reviews: **

**Alison: **Thank you! I'm glad you think so. I think before this chapter I felt really awkward about Hermione, but I think I feel a little bit better now. Thank you for reviewing!

**Alexybath: **Great, I'm glad you liked it! Glad people are listening to the song selections as well. As an answer to your question, it sounds rather improbable at this point in time. Hope you thought Hermione was adorable in this chapter too!

**Kittycat2321: **Because you've disabled private messaging, I'll put this here. I'm glad you're enjoying! Have a fantastic new year and a very late Merry Christmas to you too, doll. : )

**IGW: **Much more cuteness to come, yes! Hope the wait wasn't too long. Thank you so very much for reviewing, love!

**Strawberries and Cream: **Alright! I won't take the break. :) Hope the action was good enough, but definite explosives to come in the near future. Thanks for reviewing, lovely!


	5. Fashionably Uninvited

A/N: Hello everyone! Two things: HAPPY NEW YEAR and yes, I did respond to most of your reviews mostly high of lack of sleep. Let me know how it's been going for you! Have you any resolutions?

I'm rather nervous about this chapter, so I can't wait to hear what you have to say about it. Special thank you to my fabulous new beta Rose Eleanor Schultz, who betaed this on such short notice. All mistakes are mine!

A very big thank you to all my lovely reviewers as well: anonymous j, QueenMinnie, glitterboden, HarryPGinnyW4eva, TempestDashon, Talis Ruadair, loveroffelton, TwinzLover, Alexybath, the-clumsy-one, sweet-tang-honney, LGW, Strawberries and Cream, Inkith, PropertyOfMe95, xenaz3, whitestripes123, buttercup, Rose Eleanor Schultz, leesho-babe, BuzzLightyear11, and Zillawisp.

_**Song selection for this chapter: Fashionably Uninvited by Mellowdrone**_

**Chapter Five: Fashionably Uninvited **

After the strange week that she'd had, Hermione had been sure her life was going to return to its usual boring self. So, when she got up bright and early Monday morning as she always did, she wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary. It was the same old plain bowl of cereal for breakfast, standard ten minute shower, and twenty minutes getting her hair and wardrobe under control.

When she left her flat at exactly eight forty-five, she was expecting her standard trip down to the back alley of her building to apparate to the Ministry. She expected that she would have to fight tooth and nail to get to the front of the line for the lifts, which were insane at that time of the morning. And, she expected to have an absolutely aggravating day dealing with imbeciles who didn't know how to tie their own shoe laces, much less help anyone else in need.

So, nothing out of the ordinary.

What she should have expected was the unexpected. Ten years ago, she would have whole heartedly agreed with the statement. In fact, she would have been prepared for anything and reprimand anyone who was not.

Now, many long years later, she had fallen into a sort of lull. It was rather sad, that was for sure, but she was much too _lazy _to be prepared for everything at all times of the day. It wasn't as if they were in constant danger anymore, wasn't as if someone was going to jump out of a random corner to attack her. It was a rather good argument too, in her opinion, for they were no longer at war and hadn't been for a long time. The need had passed.

Regardless, later she would find herself wondering why she had been so _dismissive, _why she hadn't just paid more attention. It certainly would've saved her a lot of bloody embarrassment, or at the very least she could've gotten the inevitable over with sooner rather than later. Because it was going to come – her fate- and there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it.

But that average Monday morning, where all was still right in Hermione's mind at exactly eight forty-five when she was just exiting her flat, she was blissfully unaware of all else. Literally. She certainly wasn't expecting anything abnormal. Her mind was focused elsewhere.

That was why when she went flying face first to meet the floor three steps out the door, a loud shriek escaped her lips, which was incredibly high pitched and much more startled than she would ever care to admit.

Immediately turning around to find the perpetrator, she found what looked like an extremely soft cashmere blanket tangled around her now swollen and bruised ankle, ensnaring her to the floor. It was bloody strange. Who could it possibly belong to? She was the only person who lived on this particular floor besides the batty old woman down the hall that didn't even open the door when she knew Hermione was around. It definitely wasn't _hers, _something that expensive looking...

She began scanning the hallway to make sure no one was there, but her search was short and extremely poor in quality. She did not even consider using a revealing spell or two to make certain that no one was watching her, holding his breath to make sure he wasn't discovered. She would have ten years ago, it would've been second nature by then.

But wartimes were long gone and now she was more trusting in nature. So she didn't bother, didn't even hear the sigh of relief that obviously wasn't hers and was clearly audible, if only she had paid attention. If she _had, _she would've pulled her skirt down further, would've gotten off the floor even though her ankle was swollen and her knee was scraped up and bleeding.

Instead, she just sat there cross-legged on the floor, not aware she was one shift away from exposing herself. She thought she was alone, after all, so it wouldn't matter what she did. Healing herself with a few quick flicks of her wand was no big deal, no matter how inappropriate she looked in the "empty" hallway.

At least it was in her mind.

She couldn't _possibly _have known that there was someone watching her, holding his breath with his hand covering his mouth in case he would moan at the sight of her exposed flesh. There was no way anyone was there, branding the image into his mind for future use. Such an idea was absolutely absurd and paranoid, and Hermione Granger was none of the above.

So, getting up off the floor, she innocently made her way down the stairs, more carefully this time around just in case there were more strange objects lying about to trip her. She made her way to the back alley as usual and apparated to work without a second thought, completely unaware that Draco Malfoy was following her from a safe distance.

/

As per usual, Hermione made her way past security at security that stood just past the apparation check points, giving a quick flash of her Ministry badge and identification to the guard that obviously knew who she was by now. She'd been seeing the very same guard for years as he had her. They'd gone through this routine several times before. With a smile, she welcomed the wash of magic as the guard waved his wand to cast the mandatory detection charms upon her.

With a wave to the guard she had probably never spoken to, yet had met nearly every day of her career, she walked off with a smile only to turn back when she caught a flash of blonde at the security line up next to her. She couldn't turn around fast enough, apparently, even though the action caused several people to stare strangely at her.

Well, she never had grown used to acting inconspicuous after the war. She just attracted _too much attention _with the war hero status and all.

It was rather strange for her to find Draco Malfoy talking jovially with one of the security guards, all of which were normally rather bored and detested making conversation with anyone. _This _particular guard, however, was talking animatedly back, something she hadn't seen in many a long year. Apparently, neither had the people around her because they were all staring at Malfoy in wonder.

Maybe it was just because he was a people type of person or he was just interesting enough to make conversation with. Maybe he was just charming, outwardly kind, and easy to talk to. How the hell was she supposed to know? He just looked right as rain, like he was a morning person. It was almost as if he was glowing and throwing the rest of them in awe. She had the good sense to be jealous instead of enraptured, but it was a rather thin line.

And then, he caught sight of her, smiled, and waved. She almost lost her head.

It was the third time she'd seen him in the past couple of days and it was rather perturbing. What was he doing at the Ministry anyway? And _why? _Why'd he have to bump into her of all people to have awkward encounters with?

She blushed at the memory of his body pressed against her, of him catching her, of his lips grazing her skin. It wasn't too bad of an image altogether, no she wasn't going to lie to herself. He was attractive, anyone with eyes could see that. But he was Malfoy, no matter how civil he was behaving towards her, no matter that he had _smiled _on all three different occasions on three different days.

What was he so goddamn smiley about anyways? Life wasn't meant to be smiled about! It was a piece of bloody shit that made you want to kill yourself, only to wake up to do it again. And why was he so goddamn polite to _her? _Her! The girl he'd tormented for how many years of his life? It was nonsensical, insanity, incomprehensible.

Though maybe, just maybe, he actually had changed.

_Why did it matter? _

She shook her head. She'd had this conversation with herself before and there was no point wasting time to have it again. Sure, he'd apparently changed, but that didn't have any bearing in her life. She'd just have to stick to that point, wouldn't she? She'd just have to get on with her dreaded work day and then go home and relax. It was all fabulously fine. Things were going to go on as they always had and everything would once more return to its brilliant simplicity.

That was until she found herself standing next to Malfoy in line for the lifts. It was rather awkward because he once again smiled at her, which she was forced to ignore. What was his problem? Why wouldn't he just ignore her like he was supposed to? She noticed that he had brilliantly white teeth, typical of a Malfoy, and that his smile was exceptionally wide when he was smiling at her. It was almost perturbing, as if he was leering down at her.

If only he was, though, if only. Then she could slap him and be done with it.

Unfortunately, none of that happened. He didn't sneer, smirk, or laugh at her. He just smiled a little more brightly than was appropriate. He didn't say anything rude, condescending, or mean. In fact, he didn't say anything at all. All he did was smile and gestured for her to go ahead of him when the lift arrived like a proper gentleman, something Ron had never ever done at any point in their relationship.

And when the lift was packed to the brim, the buttons for every level lit up to indicate that they were going to be stopping at every floor, he even made room for her against the wall so she wouldn't have to awkwardly press up against anyone else. Anyone else besides _him, _that is.

It was awkward as hell. They didn't talk to each other like everyone else was politely doing. It was only right seeing how everyone was invading everyone else's personal space. He didn't say anything, only stared down at her like she was something he'd never seen before. His eyes were glazed over and he appeared to be thinking of something. She was close enough to smell his cologne and after shave. It was a woodsy kind of scent, absolutely mouth watering.

She knew her mouth was slightly open, staring up at him, and she knew her cheeks were the deepest shade of red they'd ever been. Later, she figured that had to be the most embarrassing thing of it all, that she'd just stood there staring up at him like she was an absolute fool. But he hadn't seemed to mind, hadn't said anything to indicate such after all. All he'd done was stare down at her like he wanted her.

Which was absolutely absurd.

Just as she was about to say something which she most certainly would have regretted later, the lift doors once again opened and a cool female voice announced the floor. _"Level four, department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures." _

She started and expected him to move, just not exit the lift with her. He made enough space for her to pass through, making sure no spare body parts even grazed her on the way out, which was an amazing feat considering how packed the elevator had been. And then, he followed her out as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if _he _belonged there and not her.

It was fucking disconcerting.

She felt obliged to ask him what he was doing there, why he'd followed her. He was just staring at her still with that indescribable expression on his face. She couldn't discern what exactly it was – anger, frustration, amusement, annoyance, fear? It could be anything and for a moment she was almost concerned. Had she done something to offend him? Was there toothpaste on her face? Why the fuck was he _smiling _at her?

Now, Hermione had always been a little on the more socially awkward side. She'd never been good at making friends and had such an authoritative personality that no one really _wanted _to be friends with her. That, paired with her strange sense of humour, her inability to make mundane conversation, her absolute refusal to look and talk like someone their age, and her know-it-all type of demeanour made her the most horrible guest at dinner parties and the least acceptable person to make friends with. It had always been that way, even when she'd started at Hogwarts.

So when she stood there in that hallway, having her third awkward moment with him in a space of a few short days, she really didn't know what to do. She should've been polite, should've asked him what he was doing there – perhaps he had a meeting or something with the head of the department. Maybe he wanted to donate to one of their many foundations and charities. Maybe he had an issue with pests and was here to see the pest control division. She should've just been plain nice like normal people were in these kinds of situations.

But instead, she settled for a sharp, "_What_?"

He blinked slowly a few times as if just realizing where he was and who he was staring at. Shaking his head slowly he regarded her as if she were some fascinating specimen he'd captured in the woods. "Sorry?"

"_What _are you staring at? Why are you here?" she snapped.

In all fairness, it wasn't really his fault he was strange. Perhaps she was reading into things or maybe she was just a little crazier than usual these days. All she knew was she was having a bad week already - she _had _busted up her knee that morning – and it wasn't his fault she was frazzled. In fact, there was probably a perfectly reasonable explanation that she kept running into him.

Of _course_ there was.

But instead of setting her mind at ease like he was supposed to do, he just shrugged at her as if it was a stupid question to ask. Hermione wanted to narrow her eyes at him and say: _there aren't any stupid questions to ask, Malfoy, let me just tell you! _But he opened his mouth before she'd even have time to formulate the words properly, which was just as well because she was rather sure she had been about to make a fool out of herself.

"Why are youhere then, Granger?" he asked nonchalantly, as if he didn't really care for the answer at all. She almost felt like she was disturbing him by opening her mouth.

"I _work _here, Malfoy, remember?" she said slowly, incredulously.

"Oh," was all he offered, shrugging again. "Yes, I remember..."

He seemed disturbed about something, but before she could ask him what he was taking that made him so disoriented, he had stepped towards her, trailed his fingers over her shoulder as he passed, so briefly that she wasn't really sure that she hadn't just imagined him doing something so intimate. And when she managed to turn herself around, shocked that such an idea had even flitted into her mind, he was already pushing the door to the stairwell open, staring at her with that same infuriating smile on his face.

"See you around, Granger," he said before disappearing, for the absolute last time she hoped.

All she knew was that her morning hadn't gone as normally as she had counted on. It was startling, not to follow the same routine she had always followed. Her rhythm had been disturbed, all thanks to Malfoy and his strange ways. Had he always been that strange? It hardly mattered, after all, because she didn't plan on ever seeing him again after that.

And with that, she put the blond out of her mind, making her way towards her office for a completely irritating work day. She even managed to work through a draft of the new proposal she was working on for house elf rights, even if it was only a rough copy and needed quite a bit of work. When she had clocked in a good two hours (more than anyone else on the entire floor could claim they'd done in the past year) she stood up happily, convinced that everything was back to normal now.

But the only issue with that was nothing was normal and she _did _see Malfoy on a near constant basis that day.

He was there when she went down to lunch, sitting at a table not too far from her own and staring at her in that strange way he had for the entire bloody time. He was there in the lift once more, saving her space against the wall as if he didn't want anyone else to touch her. He was there when she went out to Diagon Alley to pick up a new batch of parchment that she'd ordered. He was even in the gossip she heard whilst going to the loo.

He was everywhere and she couldn't do _anything _about it. It was driving her completely bonkers! As far as she knew, he didn't work at the Ministry, definitely didn't work on her floor. So what the hell was his deal? She knew for a fact that his father had died – it had been all over the _Prophet – _and he had inherited the family business. So what was he doing lurking around at the Ministry?

And why was he there every time she turned a corner, looked over her shoulder, even thought his name? It gave her a feeling of paranoia that she wasn't used to feeling anymore, made her want to scratch into her own skin, just to make sure she was really real and not dreaming this all up. Because really, it was a bizarre situation.

Finally, when it was nine in the evening and she was certain that most of the Ministry personnel had already left for the day, she cracked open the door of her office to peer down the hallway that led to the lifts. Malfoy should've gone home by now, she was certain. It really ought to be safe to come out now and make a run for it. She didn't know why she was being paranoid, just that her instincts hadn't failed her to this day. So what if she was behaving like a psycho? It wasn't like there was anyone around to find out.

So, she ran. And she ran like she was going to be hunted down by a werewolf. She knew she looked absolutely ridiculous, probably hilarious as well, but her mind told her it was alright.

That was until the cool, charming voice interrupted her stupid fucking mind. "You're working rather late today, aren't you?"

Hermione spun around on the spot, almost tripping over her own feet, to find Malfoy leaning carelessly against the wall, obviously waiting for the lift to come. Her heart, which was already painfully pounding from the long run, began to work overtime and she was worried she'd pass out from lack of oxygen. The only thought that managed to run through her head on repeat was: _What the fuck? HE SAW YOU RUNNING LIKE THAT! Bury yourself now before you die of shame. _

"Are you... bloody... _stalking me?" _she managed to choke out between pants. She hadn't meant it seriously, of course, it was just something to say. In her head it was the most ridiculous thing she could come up with. Malfoy? Stalking her?

But when she saw the look on his face, she stopped dead.

"Malfoy! You're fucking _stalking _me?" she asked incredulously. What the fuck was going on? Her mind started to shut down on her, prickly fear running down her spine so that she couldn't move, could barely breathe, couldn't turn her head in fear that he would attack her. "Tell me you're not being _serious!" _

"It's not like that," he all but mumbled, taking a step towards her. She took four steps back and he almost looked hurt. "Er... this isn't how I wanted to tell you, you know."

"_Tell _me? You mean... you're being serious?" she asked, taking another step back so that she was now pressed to the metal gates of the lift. "Malfoy, what the fuck?" She was about to make another run for it. She knew it and she only had to look at his face to see that he knew it too. He had his hands up in surrender, but she was still running.

She didn't actually expect him to open his mouth, much less blurt out the sentence that would change her life from that moment on.

"I ingested veela blood last week and all I want to do now is fu- I mean have sex with you!" He _really_ didn't seem pleased with the idea.

And then she _did _run, all the way to the stairwells and down, down, down, until she reached the Atrium. The only thing that was on her mind at that moment was to keep running until she had managed to escape to somewhere where she could think. Because this development certainly warranted some thinking time. She didn't stop running until she had reached the apparation points, didn't stop even when she'd reached the back alley of her flat building.

When she did manage to get her front door open, she put up as many locking charms as she could remember in her state (which was exactly two). And then, she curled up on her plush couch, something she hadn't done since the very first time she'd broken up with Ron. She didn't think, didn't really do anything. Just sat there and concentrated on breathing just like she had all those years ago.

And just like then, when the man that had caused the issue knocked on her door, she didn't get up to answer.

/

It was an absolute nightmare, he concluded.

There wasn't much he could do about it, either. He'd messed up irreparably, and now she was all creeped out by him even being in the same room. Frankly, it was fucking offensive. Women were supposed to fall down at his feet and worship the ground he walked on because he was so amazing. He _was _amazing too, there was no doubt about it. So who the hell was she to look at him with wide eyes as if he were some kind of psychopath carrying a knife around to stab her in the back when she wasn't looking?

It honestly wasn't like that, but he should've expected it. No girl took blatant stalking well, he supposed. And it was just as well, what the fuck was he thinking openly stalking her like that? He had _hoped _she'd give him the opportunity to ask her out for a cup of tea or something like a normal girl would have. That's what girls were supposed to do when an attractive male popped up several times a day in their lives.

She should've been flattered, not disgusted, but Hermione Granger had _never _been normal, had she?

He had always known that fact about her, everyone had. She was the stuck up, know it all specimen that had labelled itself Granger. Everyone had known it in school, that she was probably better than them all, and it hadn't _mattered _back then. Sure, he probably had made fun of her about it (he honestly couldn't remember) but when it came down to it, he hadn't given a fuck.

After all, she was just Granger, the girl that was friends with the repugnant Potter and the revolting Weasley. What did it matter if she was as abnormal as they came? Why _would _he have cared that her brain didn't work right? He'd had more important things to worry about, like destroying Potter, Quidditch, and surviving the war later on.

But now, it mattered. It was a life or death situation for him, and he found himself wondering why he hadn't paid more attention to the girl back in the day. She had been insignificant then, but now she was his entire life.

He'd die if she left him like this, he knew it.

And now that the cat was out of the bag, there was no doubt about it. She wanted nothing to do with him because she was _abnormal. _And _because _she was abnormal, he had no idea how to fix his folly. In reality, he was still stumped over the fact that she had blatantly rejected him by running away. No one had rejected him since Potter had refused his friendship at the start of their first year.

So he did the one thing that he could do, and that was continuing on as if this was normal. He wasn't exactly stupid – he knew stalking people openly wasn't the way to go about it, but perhaps she'd give in. It wasn't as if she had anything else going on in her life – he'd stalked her long enough to confirm that. She was boring and he supposed she wouldn't mind the intrusion so much because he was as interesting as they came when it concerned women.

Nevertheless, the prospects were bleak. He was afraid she'd hex his balls off before the day was even over and he _needed _those. If he had his way, she would need them later, too.

That was why it was with great trepidation that he stood outside her flat door that Tuesday morning with a bag of crumpets and a take away cup of coffee. He'd observed her long enough to see she only ate the blueberry crumpets from the bistro at Diagon alley, despised raisins, and liked her coffee with milk and two sugars – no cream, never cream.

When she opened her door like she always did at exactly eight forty-five sharp, just like he knew she would, she stopped dead in her tracks, staring at him with her mouth wide open like a gaping fish. Her expression amused him greatly and it was all he could do to not smirk at her. He knew from past experience that she despised the smirk. Pissing her off _too _much this early in the morning would only end badly for him.

He didn't have the chance to wish her a good morning, though, because she slammed the door in his face.

_Rejection Number One. _

He really should've seen that one coming, he supposed. Perhaps it was too soon to make amends. Perhaps he ought to return to watching her from afar. Instantly, he knew that that couldn't be the case, not now that he'd actually spoken to her, had touched her. His body wouldn't let him put distance between them again. His body wanted more closeness than either of them could allow at _that _point in time.

"What the _hell _are you doing here, Malfoy?" she hissed through the wooden door, which he knew was heavily warded. He could detect a hint of fear in her voice, which sent a pang through his chest. He was the absolute last person she ought to be afraid of.

_Rejection Number Two. _

"I brought you breakfast-"

"I don't want your bloody breakfast!" she nearly shrieked. It was obvious that she was already approaching hysteria, which nearly made him cringe.

_Rejection Number Three. _What the hell was he supposed to do?

"Can you just leave, please?" she asked, her voice marred with a tinge of desperation. "I'm getting rather late for work."

_Rejection Number Four. _

It was an obvious lie. He knew her schedule by heart, enough to know that she had plenty of time to waste before she was expected at work. He _had _been stalking her for a while now and she was as predictable as they came. But he also knew that he ought not to push her just at that moment, felt like there were other things besides himself that were bothering her. So, he left his present just in front of the door, and went to hide himself in the alcove at the other end of the hallway where he could observe her from a safe distance.

He sighed when she glared at the breakfast and vanished it without a second glance. The pain in his chest returned when she didn't even give a glance in his direction – and he knew she knew he was there because he'd seen her cast the detection charms.

_Rejection Number Five. _Yes, he was counting right.

He didn't know how much more of it he could handle, but he got up anyway and apparated to the Ministry where he knew she would be expecting him. That day was perhaps the most difficult day of Draco's life, difficult enough to be considered part of the horrid top ten.

He had repeated the actions he knew she had noticed the day before. He was exceptionally nice to the security guard past the apparation points, who was still amazed that Draco was even bothering talking to him. He expertly cut through the lines waiting for the lifts and even made space for her in the corner so she wouldn't have to press up against filthy strangers.

And yet, when they got off on her floor, the look she gave him was of such utter disgust that he almost wanted to yell at her.

_Rejection Number Six. _

Perhaps a good shaking would set her mind right! He wasn't some goddamn creature and she ought not to stare at him like she was above him. He didn't know what kind of hill she'd placed herself on, didn't know why she thought of herself all high and mighty, but he sure as hell wasn't going to take no for an answer.

That was why he followed her, even though her body language told him that she wanted him to fuck off and get the hell away from her. When they reached her office, he only barely managed to slip through the door before she could shut him out. He noticed that people were surprised she had a visitor.

He supposed he would be too if he were them. Granger didn't have very many visitors, but now he knew she preferred to keep it that way – or maybe she just didn't want _him _around in particular. What a painful concept to process that was.

"Malfoy, what do you want?" she finally asked in a faux calm voice, as if pretending to be calm would actually make him see some kind of reason. Though he supposed he was acting rather strange by normal standards. "Why are you here? Why can't you just _go away?" _

_Rejection Number Seven. _He only barely stopped himself from cringing.

"I told you why I'm here, Granger, and I can't fucking help it if I-" he stopped dead, half because what he had been about to say was extremely embarrassing and half because of the horrified expression on her face. What could he have said to her to make this better? _I'd die if you left me. Promise you won't ever leave me. Just give in, it's only a shag. _Instead, he settled for, "I'm sorry, really, I am sorry. You have to help me."

"I don't care if you're sorry, Malfoy, I just want you to leave," she said, her voice wavering. _Rejection Number Eight. _"I can't help you, alright?" _Rejection Number Nine. _"Please, leave me alone." _Rejection Number Ten. _

"I can't," he muttered. It was almost pathetic how needy he sounded. Couldn't she see he was absolutely desperate? He didn't exactly know what was going on inside her head, but couldn't she just make an exception from whatever it was?

"I can't either!" she said, exasperated by that point. She got up to open the door for him and this time he actually did cringe. "Please, go now before I have to call security."

And rather than suffer that kind of indignity, he got up and exited her office, disillusioning himself once he'd reached the end of the hallway. All he could think of as people stared at his stress stricken face was that that had been the eleventh time she had rejected him that day and it wasn't even past ten in the morning yet.

By the end of the day, that number had gone well past a hundred.

When she went down the stairs to purposely avoid him, even though he was waiting for her at the lifts, when she purposely sat at a full table not even glancing at his way during lunch, when she used the floo instead of apparating out, when she even avoided her usual haunts that she frequented, just because she knew he'd be there – it was all a big fat fucking rejection and he was aching because of it.

He knew that his life would become a chore if every day was like the horrid day he'd just lived through, but as he pressed his head back against the rough stone wall outside Granger's apartment, he knew that he wouldn't even care if it was just because he'd get to see her every day.

He was a fucking goner, that was for sure. Gone and dead, because it was clear as sunshine to him now. His body would wither away the day he didn't set his eyes on her.

_I'd die if she leaves me. _

/

By Thursday afternoon, Hermione had had enough of it.

Draco Malfoy had just _jumped _into her life, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He came with her to work, made conversation with her in the lifts, walked her to her office, even gave her breakfast! And she couldn't just not accept it because everyone she worked with was essentially watching. They all thought she was dating the great and mighty Malfoy.

And how could they not? He was always smiling, sneaking inappropriate touches that they all probably saw and she no doubt felt. It wasn't as if she could tell him to fuck off in public. They already thought she was insane. How could she explain to them that this wasn't a relationship, that he was really stalking her like a mad man? She couldn't, they'd all think she was a nut job.

And she _wasn't _a fucking nut job. At least, not in this scenario.

So what could she do? She let him sit with her at lunch and chatter like he knew her, let him escort her out of the Ministry with a large smile on his face, let him behave like he was in bloody love with her, all the while ignoring him the best she could. It was probably stupid on her part, but at least people weren't bothering her as much anymore with menial tasks. They were too busy badgering her about Malfoy.

In her mind, though, she was plotting his early demise. She wondered how satisfactory it would be to just squish him out of existence. No one would really miss him, he didn't really seem to have that many friends or family around. He _obviously _wasn't expected at work all that much because he spent all day stalking her, didn't he?

All she knew was that she wasn't going to sleep with him just like that. Or probably never. It didn't matter that he was good looking or wore nice cologne, or even held the door open for her like Ron never had. _None _of it mattered because she wasn't that kind of girl. And she'd told him so. He just didn't seem to get the message, didn't understand that he didn't have a chance with her. He was like a little puppy dog that just followed her around, even though she kicked him every other minute (figuratively, of course).

"_It takes one fuck! Really, just sleep with me and I'll disappear forever," he'd said, exasperatedly, almost desperately. _

"_I'm not going to sleep with you, Malfoy, get bloody lost!" _

_And then she'd slammed the door in his face. _

She'd started to burn all the gifts he would bring her on a daily basis. At least, the ones that burned easily enough. She didn't know if this was common practice for him or not, but giving valuable jewellery to people he barely knew? That was excessive, even for him. It was as if he didn't know her at all. She didn't enjoy people flaunting their wealth, didn't like that he took things like that for granted. As if throwing expensive gifts in her face was going to make her drop her pants for him.

But that was the issue, wasn't it? He didn't know her and she sure as hell wasn't going to give him the chance to. She would die and go to hell before _that _happened. Because he was Malfoy and she was a Granger. He was only here because he'd consumed Veela blood – something she wasn't even able to research because the Ministry of Bulgaria had claimed sole research rights.

She'd checked three times.

It was with a deep sense of frustration at that and all of the issues in her life that she walked down the hallway towards the lifts to go home, Malfoy trailing after her at an inappropriate distance. As if they were together! The nerve of the man. As if she'd given him any indication that she wanted him that close or even that she wanted him to open his mouth and chatter like he had a right to.

It appeared pressing the button for the lifts repeatedly didn't make them come any faster. It was a pity really, but she did it anyway. Anything to get rid of Malfoy by her side. He seemed to find her impatience _funny_ because he was grinning (Not smirking like he was supposed to, but grinning like an annoying fool). When the lift doors did open, she took a step back, nearly colliding into Malfoy.

Her day immediately became three times worse when Ron stepped through the doors, staring at her like she'd betrayed him or something silly like that.

"So it's true," he said quietly, taking a step towards them, glaring daggers at her and Malfoy.

"What's true?" she asked him. She hadn't meant to engage in conversation with him, honestly. She hadn't even thought about him for the past week, that's how done she was with him. But asking for clarification when he said such vague, nonsensical things was a habit now, and breaking a habit of nearly two decades wasn't something that just happened over a couple of nights.

"You're with _him, _now," he nearly hissed. Hermione's eyes widened, as if he really was saying something that stupid. But he was, and he wasn't going to stop. "You left me for _him!" _

"Are you bloody insane?" she said, attempting to remain calm, because two people angry in this kind of situation was just asking for trouble. She turned back to look at Malfoy for help, but he was just staring at them passively, as if the conversation didn't even concern him. She knew she was going to be alone in this. "What the hell's gotten into you, Ron?"

"You're asking me that!" he yelled this time, his face turning red as it always did when he was angry. It was an unpleasant picture, the colour of his face clashing horribly with his red hair. "You're going to stand there and act like you're not cheating on me with...with _that?" _

"Don't be so immature, Ron! _That _is a _he_, and _he _has a name!" she yelled. It was futile remaining calm with him. She'd never been able to make him see reason when he was like this in the past and she didn't have reason to believe she could now. Besides, who the fuck did he think he was? "And why do you _care _anyway? We're not together anymore."

"Don't give me that bullshit, 'Mione, you know we're together," he said confidently. It was as if he thought he owned her and that more than anything made her blood boil. "Just because you're angry at me doesn't give you the right to go around with fucking _ferrets-"_

"Just because I'm _angry _with you?" she cut him off, glaring at him now. He had some nerve showing up here and talking to her like this. She was no one's property and he had no right to suggest what she could or couldn't do, he'd given that up a very long time ago. "I'm not _angry _with you, Ronald, I'm _through _with you! And I can go around with whomever I so choose! So if you'll _excuse me._"

Ron's face turned redder, if that was even possible. "If you think this is just over, you've got another thing coming," he said angrily, stepping towards her. His eyes were flashing and for a second a moment of abject fear passed through her. He was stepping towards her, his hands clenched into tight fists and she thought he might actually hit her then, he seemed that angry. "I will not let you wander around like a little sl-"

But then, Malfoy stepped in front of her, his wand held loosely in his hands. It was limp at his side, but clearly visible to everyone there. "Easy there, Weasley," he said calmly, almost pleasantly. It was almost like he wasn't even affected. "I'm going to have to stop you there. Might want to back up a little, yeah? Seems like you're making Hermione here a little... _uncomfortable." _

When she saw Malfoy's face, she realized he was even smiling and that threw her off more than anything else he had done that week. But she didn't have time to ponder what an enigma Malfoy was, because Ron and his red face was staring at her like he was shocked she'd even let Malfoy speak. Ron stared at her expectantly, but when she didn't say anything, didn't even offer a word of consolation, his mouth snapped shut with a nasty click and he walked right back into the lift he'd come in from.

She stood there blankly for some time, just thinking. She didn't even notice when Malfoy pulled her into the lift. Even her bones felt like jelly. She had no idea how she was still standing.

Everything was upside down.

Malfoy suddenly had become mature and Ron, the man she had attached herself to for _years_, had yelled at her. And Malfoy had just watched. She had _let _Ron yell at her. She had just stood there. _Malfoy _had just stood there until it was obvious she had needed someone to interfere.

She couldn't understand what had just happened, didn't really want to give it too much attention lest her brain started to explode. But it didn't matter, because it was something that had happened in the past before. That was hardly what she was worried about. No, the issue lay with the fact that Ron actually believed she was with Malfoy now, and that meant the whole world would know by tomorrow.

What was worse? She didn't care anymore.

/

When it seemed like she couldn't move on her own, Draco took it upon himself to get her home. She seemed quiet and was probably in a little bit of shock. But that was alright, because that was something Draco could handle. It wasn't nearly as bad as rejection. In fact, he was hoping this state of hers would last. It meant that she wasn't going to yell at him.

But as it was, life hated him.

She seemed to snap out of whatever stupor she had been in when he asked her for her keys to get her flat door open. Her eyes had widened as if _just _realizing where they were and then she had stared at him like he was some kind of fucking criminal. As if he _hadn't _just gotten rid of her ex-boyfriend in a nice fashion. Women were so ungrateful sometimes.

"If I find you here one more bloody time, I'm going to file for a restraining order!" she said, much louder than necessary in his opinion.

A sort of panic flared up in his chest. She looked rather serious, yelling at him like that. Her eyes were shining and he had no doubt that she was about to cry. Women did all kinds of drastic things when they cried, Draco knew. A girl had smashed seven windows at the manor when he'd rejected her and her advances. It had taken exactly five house elves to get her to leave.

So he left. He didn't _want _her to file for a restraining order, of course not, then he'd never get to be close to her again. That was perhaps the worst thing imaginable in his mind right then. Except, of course, watching her cry. Draco couldn't even process the thought, it was too sickening. He would rather brave his body falling apart, like it was now that he was away from her, than watch her cry over some ginger.

The thought of her sobbing made him want to rip his ears off, actually, just so he would never have to hear something so depressing. He didn't know why he was so affected. Sure, he had never enjoyed watching women cry, it had always made him feel rather uncomfortable in the past. But now, the thought of _her _crying made him want to tear into himself and offer her something – _anything _– that would make her better.

So, he left.

But as soon as the image of her expression vanished from his mind, he became angry. So she'd cry over the fucking ginger, yeah, that was fantastic, but she couldn't spare _him _a moment, could she? After he'd been so bloody nice to her, too! He almost wanted to go back there and shake some sense into her, but he knew she'd probably send him away again. Or, maybe he could hunt the Weaselbee down and punch him until he wasn't annoying anymore, but he didn't want to go to jail.

So he did the one thing he knew he could do. He apparated to Blaise's office, where he knew Blaise would be. The man was chained to his desk more often than not, after all. If there was something he could count on, it was that.

That and the fact that alcohol always made his problems better. Too bad being away from Granger made certain that he couldn't successfully stomach anything for too long.

"Hello, Blaisey boy!" he said as cheerfully as he could with the throbbing pain inside his chest. Why couldn't Granger just give the fuck in already? Did she enjoy having him tied to her hip all day? Or maybe she just wanted him to suffer this.

When Blaise finally acknowledged that Draco was in his office, he literally groaned and then glared at the offending visitor. "Go away, fucker," was all he muttered before turning back to his work.

Draco only ignored that of course, instead spreading himself back onto the couch. "What, no love for your oldest mate?" Blaise didn't dignify that with a response, but that didn't bother him the least. Blaise was _always _like this when he was cranky and tired. "That's alright. I'm getting used to this kind of treatment, you know. Even Weasley called me a ferret today and I haven't done anything to him in _years, _at least."

Blaise didn't say anything. Blaise didn't even look up, actually, and that royally pissed Draco off. The very least Blaise could do was be his friend at a time like this. He had spent the bloody week running around after a prissy girl that didn't want anything to do with him and had been rejected more times than he could count. It was painful and all that jazz. Draco knew if that had happened to Blaise, _he _would've at least looked up to acknowledge the fucker's presence.

So he left.

There was no bloody way that he was going to suffer _this _kind of injustice. The anger that flooded his veins sickened him. He had promised himself to rid his life of such an emotion, or really all emotions but the sanity he had found at the club. And now he had broken all the rules. He had attached himself to a girl that didn't want him, had become needy and desperate, had stooped so low as to stalk, and felt things he had no right to feel.

It took him a while to realize that he was once again outside Granger's door and that fact out of anything disgusted him beyond belief. He hadn't denied his body what it had wanted for many long years, but this... this was too much.

He didn't _want _to be here any more than she wanted him around. He didn't exactly care for her as a person, at least he didn't think so. He didn't even think she was all that attractive, really, but his body needed her. Perhaps his soul needed her too.

His sigh was louder than he intended when he sank down to the floor, an action he had become only too familiar with over the past few days. She had only known for a couple of days and he was already exhausted. His head hurt, his body ached, but he felt better because he knew she was inside her apartment at that moment. The idea that he was dependent on her of all people made him sick.

"You came back," he heard her mutter through the door. That startled him. Her voice was a little more muffled than usual, but he knew it wasn't because of the door. He wondered what she was doing, what she looked like, then wondered why he should want to know such insignificant things. The thought made him shiver.

"Why?" she asked. Her voice was tentative, as if she wasn't sure he would even bother responding.

He didn't answer for a long while, not sure if she really wanted him to talk to her, or if she was just checking that it really was him. "I suppose I need to be here," he said, shrugging to himself. She scoffed, he could hear it even from outside the door but for some reason he didn't care that she didn't believe him, because she was actually _talking _to him. "I suppose my mind thinks this is where I ought to be."

"I suppose," was her only response.

They must have sat there for an hour in silence. He didn't mind though, because he knew she was just on the other side of the door. He could just barely make out her even breathing and wished he could hear her heartbeat. Sometimes she would sniff so quietly that he thought he must have imagined it, other times she would shift imperceptibly so she could hear a rustle of material. He thought she was probably sitting there with a blanket, but he had no idea why.

He wasn't even going to ask because this was the best thing that had happened to him, possibly ever. He knew logically that wasn't the case, but his body was literally singing with joy. There was no way he was going to question his luck. He couldn't stop the small smile from spreading across his face every so often and didn't really feel the need to. This was heaven, after all, and no one was watching him.

But eventually, curiosity got the best of him and he voiced the thought that had been bothering him ever since they'd left the ministry.

"Hey Granger?" he quietly called, just in case she had fallen asleep there on the floor. That would be the worst, disturbing her and causing her to leave him here like this.

"Yeah?" she called back. At that moment he realized she probably had the sweetest voice he'd ever heard. It was probably a side effect of the veela blood, but he didn't fucking care. It sent thrills through his body.

"Why did you let Weasley talk to you like that?" he asked, tentatively, not knowing if she would answer him, not knowing if _that _would be the moment she would leave.

She didn't say anything for a long, long while, making him wonder if she'd even heard him. He could barely breathe, wondering if she'd moved away from the door. Perhaps he had offended her and perhaps she wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Perhaps she'd gone to owl for a restraining order and then his life truly would be over. But then, he heard her sigh and knew she was there still.

"I don't know," she said quietly.

And that was all for the rest of the night.

**A/N: So, what do you think? I've already started on the next chapter, so that should be out sometime next week. Until then, here's a spoiler:**

"**_Why _wouldn't _you fuck him?" Ginny asked incredulously, much louder than was appropriate for public and for Hermione's personal comfort. People were staring, she knew it. "He's bloody hot!"_**

"_**Ginny!" Hermione and Padma exclaimed together. **_

**Unsigned Reviews: **

**Anonymous J: **Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you enjoyed it! More manic Draco to come in the future (certainly)! Hope you're having a fantastic start to 2012.

**Alexybath: **Happy new year to you too, doll. I _knew _Harry was weird, had a feeling, didn't know how to fix it though... Glad you enjoyed most of it anyway.

**LGW: **What do you think, was it _too _bad of news? Glad you like the characterizations! Thanks for reviewing and hope your week has gone well!

**Strawberries and Cream: **That's great to hear! Thank you for reviewing!

**Buttercup: **Why thank you! I feel like I just had to find my niche to feel a bit more comfortable in my writing, so I'm very glad you're enjoying. As for the Hermione character, I really do try to make them different in each story. It's just harder to do it with her character for some reason. I'm not sure why. Anyhow, hope you're having a great week!


	6. Sink Into Me

**A/N:** **So three things:**

1) I'm very, very sorry for disappearing for the past two weeks. It was totally unintentional... I just had a lot of difficulties with this chapter, but I think now I'm satisfied. I could make excuses, but I love you all too much to do something like that!

2) Thank you to my beta, who helped me see the error of my ways. Rose Eleanor Schultz, you rock my world. All mistakes are my own.

3) I have made a playlist of ALL the song selections for the ENTIRE story. Yes, there are 16 chapters in total. **LINKS ON MY PROFILE PAGE!**

Thank you to everyone who took the time to leave a review. I love you all!

Glitterboden, GhostBridesmaid, HarryPGinnyW4eva, MisheardLyrics, sweet-sunflower, BamBooks15, mgmve2008, Alexybath, sweet-tang-honney, loveroffelton, Little Girlie Wolf, Aristocratic Assassin, Twinzlover, xenaz3, Inkith, jkrowlingrox, Norah W, Amelia Raihan, Khoes, Jade Ice Fire, Venetiangrl92, buttercup, JRRTFrk, Lyenuv, kittycat2312, and fluttersal.

_**Song Selection for this chapter: Sink Into Me by Taking Back Sunday**_

**Chapter Six: Sink Into Me**

It was the end of another week, a week that had been filled with unbearable stalking. Hermione had firmly made up her mind. The stalking was insanely overboard, she needed her space goddamnit! Malfoy most certainly wasn't worth her time, effort, and stress, especially because he was behaving so...stalker like. And said things like "_it takes one fuck"! _It just wasn't feasible and she wasn't having it.

That was why when the end of the second week of her new personal hell had arrived; she was in better spirits than she had been in a very long time. Friday meant that she could ignore Malfoy securely in her apartment for the entire weekend. It would almost be like he wasn't there at all! Friday meant the end of the work week, and that was always a pleasure. Friday meant that she would get to see Padma and Ginny at lunch like they did every week.

She had seen them last week, of course she had. They weren't about to let her skive off their well established tradition just because she had problems. No, they'd dragged her there against her will and had made her stay an extra half an hour too, despite her many protests.

Sure, she loved them at all, had needed the break from Malfoy, but she hadn't been ready to tell them what was going on in her life. It was fucking embarrassing to say the least! So, she'd just sat there and kept quiet, had enjoyed the conversation even though she knew Malfoy was somewhere out there watching her like the freak he was. But this week she was definitely going to tell them, there was nothing stopping her.

That didn't mean she wasn't scared out of her wits, though.

So, she made sure to show up at the bistro they always went to extra early to save them a table. This was something Hermione never did, just because she was always busy doing something or another. She was usually the last to arrive. But today, she made sure to be early just to be rid of Malfoy a little longer and because she was nervous, frankly.

And Malfoy hadn't taken the message well, either. In fact, he'd seemed genuinely offended that he wasn't allowed to come to lunch with her – as if he would _die _or something if he wasn't around her for even those few short hours. It wasn't as if she was packing her bags and going to Morocco for the rest of the year! The man was fucking delusional. She needed the break from him, even if that meant facing her friends.

She hadn't told them about what was happening because she had still been rather _embarrassed _about it. How was she supposed to tell her best friends that Malfoy was stalking her? Not just chasing her but stalking her because he'd taken an illegal substance that was essentially forcing him to? That was fucked up, certainly. How did one even bring that up in conversation?

But worse, how was she supposed to tell them that Ron had sought her out – Ron _never _sought her out like that, he was frankly much too lazy for that kind of devotion – just to confront her about it? Such an admission was unspeakable in itself, but the truth was much worse. Not only had Ron confronted her about it, but she hadn't corrected him. Not only had she not corrected him, she had let Malfoy interfere and humiliate Ron. Not only had she let him humiliate Ron, she hadn't stuck up for Ron, either.

And now the entire Ministry of Magic must know that she and Malfoy were "dating", because he was always there, following her, saving her a seat at lunch, and all that nonsense! What other explanation was there? That was it, though, there _wasn't _another explanation.

And that was why she was dreading this lunch, even though she definitely needed the break from Malfoy.

There was no way that Ginny and Padma wouldn't have heard by now. Ginny played Quidditch for a living, everyone who played Quidditch was a gossip and a half. And Padma was the editor in chief of the Daily Prophet, there was no bloody way that _she _wouldn't know, even if the news had escaped Ginny somehow. And if it had, Padma would've told Ginny! They were dating, after all. And they would've talked to each other about it, would've been angry that Hermione had kept something like that from them.

If anything, Harry would've told them. Harry told everyone with red hair everything. It was impossible for him to hold secrets. It was a big and utter mess. Well, what the fuck was she supposed to say? Was she supposed to owl them and say: _yeah, sorry, I forgot to mention that Malfoy wants to get in my pants? You know Malfoy, right? The guy who tormented us for years in school? The guy who you used to hate?_

As if it wasn't bad enough, Marian, the girl who had the office next to hers had overheard her yelling at Malfoy about being bloody unreasonable and the whole lot of it. Of course, Marian probably didn't understand the context of the mean things that had been said, but that sure as fucking hell wasn't going to stop the gossip from spreading.

She could see it now. The sympathetic looks, the nearly gleeful smiles, the knowing stares that asked, "_Trouble in paradise?" _

They could all fuck off and die for all she cared, she was that unconcerned about what people thought about her. No, she was more worried about how Padma and Ginny would react to the news. Would they ostracize her for being with Malfoy? She had technically been dating Ginny's brother for a decade. Maybe she would take offense to it. And the three of them knew, when Ginny took offense there was no getting out of it, and then Padma would follow because that's what Padma did.

Padma arrived first and was surprised to see Hermione meekly sitting there. Hermione could only weakly smile and pretend to ignore the shrewd look that Padma gave her. She was thankful the other girl didn't say anything, yet, but it was obvious that she knew. She was probably saving the confrontation for when her significant other showed up.

It didn't take long and for that Hermione was thankful. She had never liked awkward silences and that had been as awkward as a silence could go. Well, what the fuck was she _supposed _to say? _Hey, Padma, sorry I didn't tell you, but all of Wizarding Britain thinks I'm fucking their resident playboy. Didn't you know, anyway? It's not that big of a deal, it's just fantastic, really. Yeah, I suspect he's just fabulous in bed – _

Hermione was never more thankful for Ginny sitting down in an ungraceful plop than right at that moment. It was all she could do to not blush in front of her friends at the direction her thoughts had been heading, but she knew she was failing and failing miserably. She averted her eyes, blew hair out of her face, and pretended like nothing was out of the ordinary.

But Hermione was a shit actress at best with people who didn't know her. These two girls _knew _her so it was obvious what she was doing. She couldn't help it if it was awkward!

Instead of launching right into it, like Hermione had thought she would, Ginny just sat there taking turns eyeing Hermione, then staring at Padma as if they were mentally communicating, which they probably were. She could only imagine what they were thinking about her. Slut? Whore? _Traitor_? Probably all of the above.

And she wouldn't blame them for it either.

"So!" Ginny began cheerfully, in her usual exuberant voice. "I've had an absolute _horrid _morning, my loves! Sam's been drilling us like hell, you know? Remember Sam? He's the new captain and he's absolutely loathsome-"

"You say that because he has the hots for you," Padma interrupted with a wave of her hand, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I don't think anyone's told him you don't swing that way, darling," she added with a wink.

They both turned towards her as if expecting her to add to the conversation. Normally, she would have. This was their usual banter and she always had something amusing to add by this point. That's what they _did _– entertained themselves because God knew no one else could do it. And then she almost felt silly for being afraid. Why would they ever ostracize her? They were her friends, loyal; of course they would give her a chance to explain herself at the very least.

A smile spread onto her face as she came to the conclusion that made her heart lift and melt her worries away. "I love you guys," she managed to say, though barely because she was grinning so widely.

"Well, hey, if you ever want a threesome..." Ginny said with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows. "Always open to the idea, if you know what I mean!"

"Ginny!" both Hermione and Padma exclaimed with a laugh.

"What? I'm _just _saying," she said with a shrug. And it was true, she thought nothing more of such things because that's the kind of person Ginny was and Hermione loved her for it. She had always had the ability to diffuse difficult and more often than not _dramatic, _situations with just a few sharp, witty words. "So when were you going to tell us the news?"

"And don't try to get out of it either, love," Padma interrupted before Hermione could even open her mouth. "I've had reporters watching you two for _days, _you know, so don't deny it."

Hermione rolled her eyes. They both knew Padma was lying, that was obvious with the cheesy grin on her face. In fact, it was more likely that the opposite had occurred, and that she had forbid any news coverage on the scandal that was probably imminent if the public knew what was going on. She sent an appreciative glance towards her friend who only shrugged in return.

She took a deep breath. "We're not together," she said, waiting for their reactions. They were about to add their two cents to it, obviously, since when had they not? So, before they could interrupt her, she blurted the thing she had been dreading to say out loud since it had started happening. "He's _stalking _me."

"_What?" _

It was as if with that admission, a great weight had been lifted off her chest. It was as if there had been a burden on her shoulders that she had been carrying alone for the past two weeks and that she had been _dying _to tell someone, anyone, and have them believe her. Her body felt light all of a sudden, as if it were free of the guilt of what were happening, as if the absurdity of her situation had melted away. Now that the floodgates had been opened, there was no way she was just going to stop now.

"Yeah, _stalking _me, for the past two weeks now," she said, rather quickly. Padma and Ginny stared at her with rapt attention, fascinated. "He says he ingested veela blood – _veela blood! – _and now he's obsessed with me or something. Me, of all people! Can you imagine? So now he trails me every day and sleeps outside my apartment on the floor. It's creepy as fuck."

"Wow..." Ginny breathed. "Wow."

But Hermione wasn't nearly done. Now that she had started, it was as if her dam had collapsed and all the feelings and stress she had kept pent up inside her was now rushing out. "He says weird things, acts like a complete _lunatic _and stalks me expecting me to sleep with him. Like I'll just sleep with him like that!"

"And I can't even research the subject because there are no records of it. Fucking Bulgarians! I tried contacting their Ministry and everything, but it's all _restricted, _no matter how loudly I yell or demand to speak with their superior! How can they just _restrict _something like that?_" _She was panting now, she knew it, and she probably looked ridiculous, but she didn't care.

"That's not even the worse part," she continued with a cringe and began talking at hyper speed, as if talking fast would make it go away easier. "Ron came to confront me the other day, came up to office floor and everything, while I was still with Malfoy. Then he _yelled _at me for dating Malfoy, like I'm some kind of slut, and I just let him. Can you believe it? I just let him."

"Jesus!" Padma exclaimed. "The nerve of the fucker..."

"I know!" Hermione agreed, nodding her head rapidly. She probably looked like some kind of deranged chipmunk, but in all honestly she hadn't been so relieved in a very long time. "But that's not the worst part, even. Malfoy just stood there, like some kind of passive statue. Ron even called him a _ferret._ He didn't do anything until it looked like Ron was going to...snap...I think...But he was civil about it, I guess."

"And now everyone thinks you're dating Malfoy," Ginny concluded. Hermione nodded in affirmation, almost feeling lightheaded, but that was probably because of lack of air more than anything else. "Well, it could be worse!" Ginny seemed almost cheerful at the prospect.

But they ignored her. "Let me get this straight," Padma said, staring at Hermione seriously. "Malfoy drank veela blood, wants to fuck you, is stalking you, and... protected you from your ex-boyfriend?"

Hermione sighed. "Yes, yes, yes, and yes. What am I supposed to do? I'm not just going to sleep with him. That's just..._wrong._"

"Why _wouldn't _you fuck him?" Ginny asked incredulously, much louder than was appropriate for public, and for Hermione's personal comfort. People were staring, she knew it. "He's bloody hot!"

"Ginny!" Hermione and Padma exclaimed together.

Hermione's face flushed a deep red, something she seemed to have picked up from Ron over the years. It was alright though, because she was _allowed _to be embarrassed in these kinds of situations. Why shouldn't she be? Ginny was brash, upfront, and a bit titched in the head. She didn't understand that some things just weren't meant to be said in public, let alone yelled out for everyone to hear. She had no shame, and that worked for her, but it certainly didn't suit Hermione's muted tastes. Apparently, Padma was with her on this one.

"Well, I see it like this," Ginny said with a shrug, as if being reprimanded was nothing to her. Which, Hermione realized, it probably wasn't. "Malfoy isn't a bad looking bloke and he wants you. My dearest brother is a complete arsehole these days that needs to grow a proper head," she continued, with an uncaring flick of her hand. "He's _obviously _jealous, or he wouldn't have come up to see you, right?"

Hermione nodded slowly, watching Padma shake her head. "Please tell me you're not suggesting what I _think _you're suggesting," Padma interfered with a slow voice.

Hermione stared between the two of them, observed Ginny's conspiratorial face and Padma's horrified expression. It was a vision that she'd seen many, many times before because Ginny was always plotting something or another that she thought would be _fun _for them to try, and Padma never agreed. Hermione just didn't understand what they were talking about at that moment.

"It's not that big of a deal really, Hermione, my love! You can tell us how it goes, too," Ginny said with a sly smirk. "Though I hear he's fantastic. Haven't tried it myself, obviously. Jumped _that _ship ages ago-"

Padma smacked her upside the head. "Ouch!"

They began to bicker as was usual when Ginny said something offensive, but Hermione didn't understand what they were on about this time around. Normally, it was quite easy to follow, and normally she would be laughing her arse off by this point. But Hermione hadn't been getting much sleep lately and the stress that the whole Malfoy situation had put on her had dulled the sharp edges of her usually analytical mind.

"Am I supposed to know what the bloody hell you lot are talking about?" she finally snapped, irritated that they weren't filling her in already.

"Well, _I _think you ought to teach Ron a lesson of love, really," Ginny said once more, a bright mischievous smile on her face. It was almost like she was pitching a sales idea to Hermione and Hermione was supposed to be automatically compelled to buy into it. "What better way to do that than through Malfoy? Since, you know, we already have proof that Ron's jealous of him. Besides, he _is _good looking. I saw him in _Witch Weekly _the other day."

But still, Hermione had no idea what was going on. Padma rolled her eyes at the pair of them, like she was wont to do when she finally got fed up. "Ginny wants you to fuck Malfoy to make Ron jealous, essentially," Padma steamrolled bluntly, getting up and paying the bill without a second thought. "_I _think she's being absolutely _absurd, _but it's up to you. He is good looking after all and waiting outside for you."

And then she left without another word, probably running late for a meeting or another.

Hermione, who had been shocked to begin with at Padma's clear cut explanation, nearly jumped out of her seat at being informed that Malfoy was outside waiting for her. She twisted around in her chair to find Malfoy leaning against one of the street lamp posts, smoking something, and looking like the devil himself with bright white blond hair.

Yes, she had to admit that he was good looking. That didn't mean she was going to bloody fuck him though! What kind of person did Ginny think she was?

And she was about to tell Ginny just that, but Ginny was already getting up, that devilish conspiratorial smile still on her face. "I have to get going, but I'll owl you later, darling." She was already shrugging on her coat, buttoning up the clasps deftly. The action was almost mesmerizing. "Let me know how it goes. Remember, Ronald is an arsehole and Malfoy stood up for you."

Before Hermione could counter, Ginny placed a kiss on her cheek, and was out the door with a wave.

She must have sat there for at least a full five minutes, just staring into blankly into. She had expected to feel better after this lunch, not feel even _more _flustered and confused! Because that was what Ginny had done, had confused her. They were meant to offer her kind words of advice, meant to support her decision of not just sleeping around with someone because they were good looking and/or stalking her.

But even as she went back to work, Malfoy following in tow, that was all she could think of and it irritated her to an extent. It was true that Ron responded best to such crude measures as mind games and jealousy, and it was also true that Malfoy was rather good looking. The two facts were as true as her name was Hermione Granger.

But did that necessarily mean she ought to just sleep with Malfoy?

_Could _she just sleep with Malfoy? Hermione didn't know anymore, her resolution on the matter had shaken. It didn't help that Malfoy was still being exceptionally kind to her, even after she had yelled at him rudely for at least fifteen minutes straight before lunch. He held open the door, made sure her co-workers didn't bother her too much by dazzling them with conversation, and even protected her from the sweaty after lunch traffic in the lifts.

He didn't talk to her because he knew she was lost in thought, he didn't comment on her blank expression or her stares. He never, ever brought up Ron ever again, or her encounter with Harry. He was tactful, he was kind, and he had a pleasant voice when he wasn't saying things like "_just sleep with me, Granger!". _But it didn't matter, really, because this wasn't the real Malfoy. It was just a by-product of the veela blood, she was sure of it.

And for some reason, that fact made her very sad.

/

That weekend, she was constantly aware of Malfoy sitting outside her door. She didn't leave for anything and it seemed like he was just about always there. She didn't understand how that was possible. How did he go to the loo? How did he eat, drink? It looked like he barely slept as it was and _still _managed to look like he was gorgeous.

She was jealous, she was discontent, and she was confused.

As the beginning of a new week dawned upon her life, that insolent discomfort, that impending doom that was growing within her only made its presence further known. She would see him every day as soon as she exited her flat, would see him once she reached the Ministry. She would see him every time her office door opened, the last thing she saw when it closed. He was the last thing she saw every single bloody day.

And it just irritated her to death. Not because she just didn't want to see him in her life, not that that wasn't true as well, but because Ginny's words were continuously swirling around in her head. It truly _bothered _her that she could even consider such a thing as sleeping with someone just because she wanted to make her ex-boyfriend jealous. It was disgusting, contemptuous behaviour, something she hadn't ever expected of herself.

But she was thinking about it anyway.

It made her angry. Angry at him, angry at herself, angry at her surroundings, and angry at every little thing that came across her way. Her temperament went from horrid to extremely horrid to abysmally horrid in a matter of days. It was throwing Malfoy for a loop, that much was apparent, but he _still _didn't comment. He was still nice to her, as nice as he could possibly be, and that only made things worse.

That made her want to slap him silly or gouge his eyes out because _that _meant that he was the bigger person, didn't it? He hadn't really been extremely rude to her, at least not as rude as she was obviously being to him. Why didn't he snap? The Malfoy she had gone to school with would've snapped by now certainly, he had had the patience of a toad.

Zilch, zip, none.

This only meant that he had grown up and she simply hadn't. It only added another reason for her to just give in and listen to Ginny's words. One more reason in the book that she ought to sleep with Malfoy and just get it over with. It was a win, win situation, wasn't it?

The frustration that ran through her bloodstream was paramount, was something she just couldn't get rid of. He didn't exactly give her an opportunity to wind down, either, god knew what he was thinking in doing that. But it didn't change anything. Yes, taunting her by shoving the facts in her face only made it worse, but she had no doubt that she'd have reached the same conclusions by herself anyway.

Just, you know, with a smaller percent chance that she was about to blow someone's head off.

Regardless, it didn't change anything. If there was anything to be said about Hermione Granger and the type of personality she had, it was that she was relentless and bound to her decisions. She wasn't just about to give up because someone had presented a few new facts to attempt to sway her mind. Hell no! She was stubborn, resolute in her decisions. There was nothing anyone could say or do to change her mind once it had been made, and in the whole Malfoy situation it _had _been made since day one.

He was Malfoy and she was Granger. It was really as simple as that.

That was why it was with a firm resolve that she entered her flat building on that unremarkable, random Wednesday evening. She knew he would be waiting for her just outside her flat door. He always somehow managed to get here before her, even though they left the Ministry at just about the same time. It was something she had stopped trying to question or even explain to herself. If Malfoy wanted to work extra hard to get here faster than she did, then that was something he could waste his energy on. She didn't care.

He smiled at her glare, and she ignored him the best she could. It was rather hard, seeing as Malfoy had an almost blinding smile. She didn't know what he was thinking, flashing his teeth like that, but she wasn't buying it. It was all an act to get in her pants. He didn't _really _like her, just like she wasn't _really _considering sleeping with him.

"How was your day, sweetheart?" he asked her, smiling up at her from his place on the floor. He looked rather nonchalant, sitting there propped up against the wall like that. He was wearing the same black robes he'd worn to the Ministry that day, and they looked worn but he didn't seem care. No, the only thing he was focused on was her.

She shrugged as coolly as she could manage. "You were there, weren't you? Or are you as blind as you are thick?"

And with that, she unlocked her door, slamming it shut behind her. She was insanely thankful for the door between them, even if he really was just on the other side. She didn't know _what _she'd do without it. Her mediocre acting skills only lasted so long, after all. With the door blocking his view, he couldn't see how nervous he made her, or the fact that him sprawled on the floor so lazily like that was actually an enticing image.

How could you be that rude all the time to an enticing image?

You couldn't, was the answer, and Hermione knew that because Hermione was smart. Smarter than anyone gave her credit for, in fact. She knew she couldn't sleep with Malfoy because that would be the end of her life. No one would take her seriously anymore, even _she _wouldn't be able to take herself seriously anymore. And that was the bottom line. She had to preserve her integrity.

She'd been so caught up in her thoughts that she hadn't even realized that Malfoy was still talking to her. Normally, he wouldn't bother engaging in conversation, but she normally didn't ask him questions he could respond to, no matter how rhetorical they were.

"...Not as if I've the chance to observe as well as I would like," he was saying, which made her snort. She didn't have to look to know that he was probably smirking at the unladylike action like he always did when he felt like she wasn't looking. "Why don't you give me a chance, then, Granger? Is the past still haunting you or something? Because I can assure you, I've _changed_."

And with that statement, he'd broken all the rules. He wasn't supposed to be talking to her, even if it was just through her door. He wasn't supposed to be telling her things like this at least, if he were to insist to talk. He certainly wasn't supposed to proposition her! He'd laid his cards out on the table, so she supposed it was her turn.

"Here's the thing, Malfoy," she said in the most reasonable and rational voice she could muster. Perhaps if she laid it out clear cut he would just finally leave her alone. "I don't know you. I don't know what kind of women you hang around, but I don't just sleep with people I don't _know. _I'm not a slag, alright? And no amount of stalking is going to change that."

"I'm not asking-"

"_No!" _she cut him off, ending the weak willed protests before he could even attempt them properly. "There is nothing you can do or say that's going to change my mind, alright? I'm sorry!" She lifted her hands in aggravation towards the door, not that he could see her or anything, but just because it made her feel a little bit better.

Silence fell, and for a few long moments Hermione thought he might have actually left. The thought almost gave her a sense of relief. There was some kind of apprehension growing within her and she realized that there was more to it than just _not _wanting to sleep with Malfoy. Maybe it was just that she didn't like her privacy invaded like he was doing. Maybe she was lonely and liked company sometimes. Maybe she hated his guts and wanted him to die. Maybe just maybe he turned her on a little bit.

As it turned out, her frantic thought and pounding heart had been completely unnecessary because he cleared his throat and she knew he hadn't left. Half of her was disappointed that she wasn't going to be rid of the menace and annoying anger that she'd been feeling and enduring. The other half of her was just relieved that she wouldn't have to explain what was going on to Harry and Ron just yet.

"My favourite colour is blue," he said randomly. His voice was so quiet she almost didn't hear him through the door.

"What?" she asked reflexively.

"My favourite colour is blue," he repeated slowly, enunciating each syllable in that handsome voice of his. "Kind of a deep blue. Like cobalt. The colour of the sky right after the sun has set, to be precise."

She didn't say anything. It was the most random thing he had ever said to her in their entire history together. So what did she care if he liked the colour of the sky or something like that? Where was she supposed to file this piece of information in her gigantic _"What the Fuck is Malfoy Doing"_ file? So instead, she just sat there, almost shrugging to herself.

Maybe he'd finally lost it.

"And I like spicy food. Salty crisps on occasion, but chocolate cake is my one food weakness. I detest bland things because I feel like they're not worth eating." He paused, as if evaluating what to say next. "I prefer cats over dogs because I can't be bloody bothered to walk a dog every day. My owl hates me, but that's because I never use him for anything. Who would I write to, anyway? My best mate is Blaise Zabini, who you've met, and who is a complete arse. And I desperately hate everything orange..."

His tone was even, his voice measured. He enunciated everything as if he were giving her a lecture or something, and for some reason she was fascinated. For some reason, he was revealing personal things about himself. She didn't question why, didn't want to in fear that he would stop just as randomly as he had begun. She had always enjoyed learning about people, found humans to be the most interesting subject one could learn.

And boy was Malfoy interesting.

He said a whole lot of things to her, a lot of which she didn't register, only knew that he had said them. He liked the night time better than the day, he preferred lemonade to pumpkin juice, he excelled at Transfiguration and Potions back at school, and he had always loathed being a Prefect because the concept had never really made sense to him. When he was seven, he had ran away from home, only to be reprimanded by his father so terribly that he never attempted such a thing ever again.

He despised his father, but had loved his mother when she had been alive. He loathed friendship, but made exceptions. He didn't like to be angry but angered easily enough. He hated mind games but loved to play them. He liked smoke filled rooms and clear skies to play Quidditch in. He loathed the idea that he had cared enough to hate things he knew nothing about, hated the fact that he had cared in the first place.

He had a cat named Sniffles and a closet full of random memorabilia that he didn't even remember buying let alone using, but didn't have the heart to throw out for some reason. He was afraid to die, was afraid to live, was afraid that one day the sun might not come up for him, but would for everyone else.

He loved to read, but didn't want anyone else to catch him doing it.

He enjoyed wandering out into the muggle world just to observe.

He hated anything and everything with the term "veela" in it.

So essentially, he was just like her. She was surprised to find that Malfoy was just as human as she was. Somehow, under the guise that he had presented himself in, he had appeared to be more than just human. But now, now that he had sat there and told her a plethora of things that were clearly as personal as one could get with a Malfoy, she realized that he was flawed. Just as flawed and broken as she was. It surprised her, but at least she understood now.

And when he finally stopped speaking, the clock told her that it was well past midnight. The silence they sat in was companionable, something she hadn't shared with anyone other than him for a very long time. She wondered if his hands were shaking like hers were, or if he was in the same kind of shock he had put her in.

Then she realized that it didn't matter, none of it did, just that someone had sat there and listened to him talk. She had a feeling that he had never done this with anyone else before in his life. She was glad that she could be of that kind of assistance to anyone, even if it was Malfoy and he had made her life hell for the past few weeks. It was her good deed of the day.

"I guess that's a start," she whispered when she couldn't stand the silence anymore. She didn't have to guess to know that he'd heard her.

After all, he _was _just on the other side.

/

If Draco had described his situation as agonizing last week, this week was certainly hell.

Draco had had many bad weeks in his life, too many to count perhaps. There had been that time that that psychotic bloody hippogriff had violently attempted to dismember his arm, the time when the dark mark had been branding to his skin and he had almost died and/or wet himself, and of course all those horrid weeks spent in the Room of Requirement. Those had been particularly bad.

Well, of course, there were those weeks that he'd spent as a prisoner in his own home, with a snake as an overlord and a mentally ill father as a dictator. Those weeks stood out particularly stark against the white backdrop of his mind, and he didn't particularly like to think of those weeks, months, hours... They were a nightmare that he never wanted to revisit.

But this particular week of his now pathetic life, the week where he had attempted to seduce Granger with words (and they really were only words, nothing more _obviously_!) was probably one of the worst of his life. Sure, a snake was bad and his father was almost worse, but the snake had been vanquished and his father had been buried – worries of the past, all long gone.

He supposed what he was _really _trying to say that Granger was an annoying, snarky, vindictive _bitch. _

There really was no other way to say it, and Draco wasn't about to think any higher of the girl that was making his life a living hell. It didn't matter if he wanted to fuck her violently into the ground with as much force and passion he could possibly muster (which was clearly a lot – hello! He was a _Malfoy!) _He hated her guts to the point where he wanted to pull her down by the hair and make her scream. (not that he actually would, domestic violence was for the lower classes. Obviously.)

The point was, she was an evil bitch. That's all there was to it.

It had all started with his misguided attempt at seduction. She had said that she couldn't just sleep with people she didn't know, so he had attempted to get her to know him for the purpose of getting into her pants. It was rather futile, he had known that even before he had started. But he had been insanely desperate and harder than hell. She had been wearing a tighter than usual top, tight enough for him to see the outlines of her breasts, however small they were.

Anything to get into bed with her, really, even if it meant degrading himself to the point of no return.

And he _had _degraded himself beyond repair. He had divested random arse information, sure, but she had still rejected him in the most cruel way possible. She hadn't opened the door, had stayed on the other side, had discontinued the conversation, and hadn't acknowledged that he had spent at least an hour lowering himself in front of her.

"_I guess that's a start," _she had said, and that meagre response had been all that he had gotten from her that night.

It was a serious outrage in his opinion. No one treated him like this and no girl had ever rejected him, especially like that. He almost had the good sense to be utterly humiliated, but his mental defences had stopped him from feeling such a lowly, common emotion.

But it was hard. He had to physically stop himself from blushing in her presence as it was now. He had stopped stalking her so closely as a result, at work and elsewhere, he didn't really approach her in public at all in fear of a repeat of the experience. All he did was hide himself and only came out when she was safely placed on the other side of the door where he knew she would stay for at least a few hours. It was a compromise, a painful, inconvenient one at that, but what could he do?

She was an annoying, self righteous _bitch! _

And she had been absolutely right. That _had _only been the very start of his miseries. She actually took the time to talk to him now, as strange as it was. Apparently, she felt like she could impart her opinion upon him now that he had given her some personal information to work with. Last week he would've been ecstatic that she was taking the time to talk to him. He would've even become optimistic about his position in his life! Now he knew better.

Now he knew all Gryffindors were arseholes and a half.

The howler Weasley had sent him hadn't really helped his mood, either, fucking annoying nitwit. One day he'd punch Weasley right in his tomato freckled face. One day, he'd destroy the long limbed freak and his garden gnome family too!

But he knew that day probably never would come, especially if Granger were to continue destroying his life like she had apparently set herself out to do. She was evil, and that was the only thought that kept repeating through his mind that week, he found.

/

"So, Malfoy," she asked in that annoyingly imperious voice of hers, as if she was better than him or something. "Don't you have to ever go to work?" He could smell pizza through the door, meaning she was sitting there with her pillow and blanket, having dinner.

Yeah, why would the stalker ever need to eat, anyway? Yeah, don't offer food or refreshments like a normal person would. How fucking rude was she?

"No," he responded bluntly, just hoping she'd get the message. He didn't want her to talk, just to breathe long enough for the spell that had been put on him to wear away. And if that wasn't possible, then he wanted her to be quiet long enough for him to die first. At this point, death almost seemed preferable.

_Almost_.

"Why not? Don't you own Malfoy Industries?" she continued, oblivious to his foul mood that she was no doubt the sole cause of. But of course, why would she care about his mood? She obviously only cared about her own because she was selfish like that. In fact, she seemed almost cherry and that slightly ticked him off, no matter the fact that his body was nearly singing at the fact. Stupid fucking traitorous body! "I would think you'd want to put some effort towards something you own..."

"No," he continued bluntly. For being called the smartest witch of their age, she was certainly bloody thick. Didn't she get the message? It was fucking annoying! Was he really going to have to spell it out for her?

"Well, why not?" she asked on anyway, clearly not taking the hint.

It was as if she was doing it on purpose, just to get on his nerves. He really wouldn't be surprised if that were the case. Of course she would abuse her power, who could possibly stop her? He wished they could switch spots, then he'd bloody show her how it was done, what it felt like to long after someone, to want something you couldn't have to the point where not having it made you sick, made you want to die...

"Because," he said with a sigh. "It has absolutely nothing to do with me." He was calm outwardly, insanely articulate. There was no way she could refute him was there? She wouldn't dare go after that tone. No one ever did. It was the voice of rationality. He practiced this particular facade for her before he came here every night, just for her, just so that she wouldn't think any less of him. He had to be perfect for her to want him, and he supposed it wouldn't hurt to have good grammar.

"Doesn't it pay for your extravagant lifestyle?" she asked. He wondered at that split moment what her expression was like. Was she pensive? Annoyed? Smug? Happy to cut him into tiny little pieces to feed to the fish? He didn't know and that bothered him.

But his body and mind were frozen in all other thought. What was he supposed to say to her? It was a valid question if he really wanted to admit it, which he didn't. He supposed it was true, part of the funds that Malfoy Industries generated did go to his Gringotts vault and he did use money from that vault to pay for...well, everything.

Was she justified in asking why he didn't associate himself with his father's company? Well, it was his company now, he supposed, he _had_ signed the papers. But whenever anyone had asked – and it had namely been Blaise – why he didn't work towards bettering the legacy of Malfoy Industries, that every Malfoy male (and a couple of worthy females) had worked all their lives towards, his answer had always been the same.

It didn't concern him. He wasn't part of that legacy. Why the hell would he work towards a legacy that had nothing to do with him?

But she had punched a flaw into the argument he had been making for over ten years, and it had taken her about a second to do so. She was slowly sinking herself into the back of his mind, raising questions that didn't need to be raised, pointing out flaws in the system that was his logic, morality, reason. He didn't like it. No, he didn't like it one little bit.

She was going to destroy him, was already in the process of doing so, but he couldn't care enough to do anything about it, didn't want to do anything about it because it meant that she was associating herself with him in some capacity.

"What are you suggesting?" he asked her, without really being aware of it.

No, being polite to her had become a second nature now, and because continuing the conversation was the polite thing to do on his part, no matter how much he really didn't want to, he did so. And he did it in that calm cool tone he knew she liked, or at least hadn't reacted badly to yet.

"You could try working, you know. Maybe you'd feel better about yourself," she offered.

And that had been the end of it. She had sat there, finished her dinner, and then moved off further into her apartment without even saying goodbye. And he had sat there, considering her words because that's really all he had left to do for the night. It wasn't as if there was anything else going on for him. He had no real friends, no family, and he didn't want to go to the club anymore. He didn't want to leave this place because he didn't like being away from her.

Even if she was a psychopathic bitch.

And he knew that despite the fact that his mind didn't want to work at Malfoy Industries, his body would. It wasn't because he was out to feel better about himself like she had suggested, because he knew that wasn't the case. No, the only thing that could make him feel better about himself at this point was if she came out there, buried herself in his arms, and let him have his way with her body, mind, and soul. But that clearly wasn't happening.

No, he was going to go to Malfoy Industries tomorrow because she had asked for it, even if it had been a little indirectly. And he was going to do it because it might potentially increase his chances of getting into her life. That was all he wanted at this point, to get into her life, and for her to sink into his. Not just his life, of course, but his entire being.

Was that too much to ask?

Logically, it was a waste of time. Logically, he knew she was probably sharpening her teeth to bite into him again tomorrow. But he'd be here anyway. He'd want her to.

And wasn't that a bitch?

/

"_Alright," he said with a pant. "I'm here you great lump." _

_Blaise stared up at him from the paper work on his desk, raising a brow before completely ignoring him once more. That act was starting to get particularly old, and Draco really thought Blaise should grow the fuck up. Just because he'd vomited over the desk didn't mean Blaise ought to be all mad at him forever. He had said sorry to be fair, and that really ought to count for _something.

"_I said," he began, trying again, "I'm-"_

"_Here, yes, I have ears, Draco, I can hear you," said Blaise from his seat at the desk, not even bothering to look up. Did no one have common courtesy these days? Did no one think Draco was important enough to associate with? "May I ask what you want now?" _

_Draco gave a frustrated sigh. This really wasn't working out the way he had imagined it to. Though, he wasn't exactly sure _what _he had been expecting. Flowers? Endless praise? Perhaps not, but those seemed infinitely better than the cold shoulder he was getting from Blaise right at that moment. He was here to do his friend a favour, he really ought to be treated better than a common worker! _

"_Well. I came here to offer my services-" he began again. _

_But Blaise didn't let him continue. In fact, all he did was snort and roll his eyes. "We don't need strippers, alcohol, or sexual debauchery, thank you. People actually work here, doll. Go return to your little hole." And then he wasn't paying attention anymore, at least not to Draco. The papers in front of him were probably for more interesting in comparison. _

_Draco _was _offended now. "Listen here, you little fuckwit. I came here to actually get some fucking work done, alright? For fucking once! So don't fucking act like you know everything." Blaise raised a brow, clearly interested at the odd sentence that had left Draco's mouth, but he didn't interrupt this time, at least. "Now you can either fucking tell me what the fuck to do or I can fire you and find someone competent who fucking will!" _

_To Blaise's credit, he didn't flinch at all. Didn't even comment on the fact that Draco was acting as odd as he'd ever seen the blond. But that was why Blaise was Draco's best friend. Blaise never judged or asked questions where they weren't needed. He wasn't like _Granger, _wasn't like most people in fact. _

"_Well, if you have a seat, we have to look over last quarter's earnings and report it to our finance department in the next half hour..." And so began his day of drudgery. _

And drudgery it had been, Draco reflected.

He had never been so fucking exhausted in his life! Or sore, for that matter, and Draco had no idea why he should be sore. He hadn't even really physically exerted himself. Now, the headache he understood perfectly. All day, all he'd done was look at papers that were filled with words and numbers he didn't understand, talk to people who said things he didn't want to understand, and spend more time with Blaise Zabini than was appropriate.

Really. He wasn't out to have a relationship with the man, why would he want to spend breakfast, lunch, and dinner with him including all the hours in between?

He was in an extremely foul mood when he threw himself down outside Granger's door. He could see a little bit of light glowing out from under the great slab of wood, so he knew she was home. That was a small mercy, at least, he wouldn't have to deal with her criticizing him face to face. He'd had a hard enough day without having that too.

"Malfoy?" she called. Her voice was a little muffled, though why he had no idea. Maybe she was in another room. Why she bothered asking if it was still him didn't make sense to him, either. Who else would it be? It wasn't as if she had any other visitors who didn't knock on the door, or random stalkers he didn't know of.

"Yeah," he responded gruffly, "it's just me, Granger."

She didn't say anything more, and that was just as well. He had a headache and his body was hurting. All he wanted to do was go to sleep. Ideally, he wanted her to be in bed with him, but that sure as hell wasn't happening, and he sure as hell wasn't about to ask her for such a thing out loud. But really, they needn't even fuck at first. He could wait. All he wanted to do was _sleep _for goodness sakes.

After a while he heard her plop herself down on the other side of the door.

"So, Granger, how was your day?" And for a split second he actually wanted to know. But then he remembered how much of a bitch she was to him and decided he didn't really _care _how her day had gone. It was all the same. Work, home, work, home. What could have possibly happened? It was all mundane. So, instead, he didn't give her the chance to respond. "Want to know how _my _day went?"

She seemed a little startled that he'd even said something. After all, he _had _been the perfect picture of politeness up until this point. "Sure, then. How was your day, Malfoy?"

The question sent a thrill to him. It was almost like they were having a real conversation. "I went to work, like you asked. And it bloody _sucked arse- _I mean... It didn't go well. For me, anyway. So I hope you're happy."

"Did you really?" she asked. Her tone was skeptical like he knew it would have been before he had even asked. Of course she wouldn't trust him. But it was a good thing he'd prepared for this eventuality.

"Sure did!" And his voice was almost cheerful. He reached into his pocket to pull out three sheets of paper and shoved them under her door. He waited until he heard her open them up before continuing. "Letters of confirmation of my presence at Malfoy Industries. Signed and dated, as you can probably see, and there's a spell for authenticity if you really want to confirm. Blaise Zabini, my head of finance, and my PR head. I think they left their contact information on there too, if you _really _want to confirm."

"Wow," she said, impressed that he'd taken the time to do all this. "Bloody hell, Malfoy, what are you, some kind of lawyer?"

And then he truly grinned for the first time all week. It was much too bad that she couldn't see. "I knew you wouldn't believe me," he said with a shrug.

"Why does it matter?" she asked.

He shrugged. Why _did _it matter, anyway? "It matters," he muttered back.

"Well...alright," she said.

Her tone was strange and he didn't know why. It frustrated him, all that he didn't know, _couldn't _know about her because he was trapped on the other side of her door, her life, her mind. If only he had the resources to get what he needed. He wanted to know her, how she thought, why she thought it, what made her tick. Was it _really _all that much to ask?

"Why'd you do it?" she asked suddenly, so randomly that it startled him. It was a good question, he supposed. Why _had _he done it? But that was all too obvious, she really should've been able to see it.

"You asked me to," was his only response.

He knew she'd heard him, she knew that there was nothing else to say after an admission like that. He thought that perhaps she _had _managed to bury herself into that tight space inside his chest – the space he hadn't shared with anyone in his entire life. She knew that this was more than he was letting on, more than she knew.

But both of them knew now wasn't the time to breach the silence, because sometimes silence really _was _golden. Sometimes, it was all that people had holding themselves together.

And for some reason, Hermione didn't want him to break.

But for Draco, he was much too oblivious to know the difference between hatred, annoyance, and bitchiness. Because by that point Draco had become exhausted. By that point, he had already fallen asleep. That was why when Hermione cracked open the door to find him sprawled on the floor, he was none the wiser. Indeed, when she conjured a pillow and blanket to situate him in a more comfortable position, he was unaware of it.

Luckily for him, though, it all smelled of her.

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed! I'm hoping I'll have some spur of the moment inspiration for the next chapter and update on time next week. Until then, here's a spoiler:**

"_**That's like saying you like swimming but will never go because you're afraid of drowning. It's nonsensical, Granger!" he said, clearly confused. **_

"_**But that's the point. They're **_**irrational. **_**They don't **_**need **_**to make sense!" **_

**Unsigned Reviews: **

**Sweet-sunflower: **Hello! Your private messaging is disabled, so I shall leave this for you here. I hope that this chapter (and future chapters) will help you see the distinction of veela blood helping Draco display his true personality more, not just substances altering his personality, if you know what I mean? That's a very important aspect! Anyhow, thank you for reviewing!

**Alexybath: **I quite like the element of surprise, don't you? Thank you for reviewing!

**Buttercup: **I'm glad you like that I'm realistic! (Though, realistic enough?) Let me know how you like the progression of this chapter – too fast, too slow? Thank you for reviewing, as always.

**Kittycat2312: **Because you've disabled private messaging, I'm leaving this here. I love that you love my characterizations! I do have a tendency to go overboard when I'm making a point, it _is _a flaw, unfortunately. But I'm glad you enjoyed it. Sorry for the long wait!

**Fluttersal: **Because you've disabled private messaging, I'm leaving this here as well! I'm glad you don't mind the wait (it's really usually not this long between chapters...) thank you for reviewing!


	7. Violet Hour

**A/N: **Hello my lovelies! Didn't think I'd make it on time, did you? Well, ha! I proved you wrong didn't I! Make sure to check out the completed play list of song selections for this story – links on my profile page! And also, please send your thoughts and love towards the amazing Rose Eleanor Schultz who had the most insanely difficult week. I love you, darling!

Thank you to everyone who reviewed: Rephiamlove, glitterboden, Akemi333, mgmve2008, AliBelly, Inkith, Venetiangrl92, PrettyChelsea, JRRTFrk, Jadepowell, Amelia Raihan, StrawberryPeaches, sweet-tang-honney, fluttersal, Anonymous, xenaz3, Alexybath, yolandadcup, c, RideEmLikeACowboyJazzy, nikki98, Dorien, Tinynoe, and buttercup.

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_**Song Selection for this chapter: Violet Hour by Sea Wolf**_

**Chapter Seven: Violet Hour**

When Draco woke up, his first thought was to go right back to sleep. He would have, too, if the position he had found himself in weren't so uncomfortable. There was no goddamn way he would be able to go back to sleep in an office chair – how did people do it? How the hell had _he_ even done it?

His whole body ached, hurt to the point where if he were younger and had had no self dignity, he would've flat out cried and demanded a massage. But, of course, there was no one but him in the office, and he had too much pride to stoop down to such disgusting levels. So instead, he attempted to stretch and winced as he did so.

Draco didn't remember falling asleep at work, exactly, and the strangeness of the situation made him question his sanity. Draco Malfoy, at Malfoy Industries, sleeping because he had done far too much work? On a Friday freaking night? It was an absurd suggestion to make and if someone had told Draco that this is what he'd be doing to get some girl to sleep with him, he would've _Avada'd _the fucking balls of them. How dare they suggest something like that?

Draco would _never _do something so...so... _responsible. _

But he was faced with the stark realization that that was _exactly _what he was doing – working to get a girl to like him a little bit better. What was worse? He didn't even mind it that much! Of course, he'd never admit such a thing out loud lest someone actually hear the cursed words fall from his mouth. That would surely be a calamity and he'd certainly deny it if anyone actually asked him. But he actually quite liked putting in his worthless two bits here at his father's company. It made him feel productive and it was all worth it when Granger smiled on the other side of the door.

He had no freaking idea what was wrong with him, or what kind of spell Granger had put over him. In the past, people would pray to see the day Draco got over his immaturity and actually accomplish something with his life. And now, he actually _was _doing _something, _even if that something was rather mediocre. And he was doing it for a girl.

It was just a bonus that he felt a little better about himself.

/

"_We're twenty points down in the stocks, you know," the goblin who did all the finances said. Why couldn't he remember anyone's name? He had been here for long enough and he had hired the bloke. It was almost dismal, but what the goblin didn't know wouldn't hurt him. "And if we don't have a better quarterly this time around, everything's going down the drain. We'll be finished!" _

_The goblin whose name Draco did not remember seemed to be in a little bit of a panic. Draco didn't understand why, but they _all_ seemed to be in a little bit of a panic. Everyone except for him. Perhaps he didn't understand the gravity of the situation or something, or maybe it just wasn't that big of a deal to him as it was to the rest of them, but Draco felt like they were over exaggerating just a tiny little bit. _

_Or a whole freaking lot. _

_Blaise seemed to be the most stressed out of all of them. He only acknowledged the goblin's words with a dark stare and turned to face the PR guy, whose name Draco had also forgotten. "And how are we doing with the press?" _

"_Poorly," the man replied shortly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world if they'd only paid attention a little bit more. "There's already news that we're going to be selling out to Harper Incorporate or even just shut down..." he trailed off, his gaze flickering towards Draco before turning back towards Blaise again. "They're predicting we're going to take a hit in the stocks and that Mr. Malfoy is going to step down from his post and-"_

"_What?" Draco interrupted. "What do you mean, step down?"_

_Utter silence. _

"_Well, you see, sir," the only girl in the room whose name he also did not remember said to him when no one else responded, "You haven't had any public appearances, haven't gone to any investor meetings... People are saying you're going to step down from your post or sell your company to the highest bidder." She had certainly grown some self confidence since the last time Draco had seen her. She was no longer all that meek. _

"_Not much we can do, then," Blaise sighed. He leaned forward and rubbed his forehead. "Perhaps we ought to consider the option of a merger. We could potentially merge boards, yes? It need not be a complete destruction..." _

_For the next half an hour, Draco sat through a very confusing conversation with terms he'd never heard before, options he had no clue of, and ideas that just flew past his head. All that he was able to grasp was that they were discussing dismantling his father's company – his company now technically – because there was no way that they were going to survive in the condition that they were in now. _

_And Draco just didn't understand. _

_Maybe Draco was just inexperienced in all matters concerning business, but there was always hope, wasn't there? There was always something to be done to ensure survival, his father had proven that. After all, his father had supported the Dark Lord fucking twice and had still survived the scrutiny of the public! In fact, the company had thrived, even though everyone obviously knew his father had been as guilty as the devil himself. How had he done it? _

_If there was one thing Draco could respect about his late father, and there really was only one thing, it was that. Lucius Malfoy had been resourceful, had been versatile, had survived where Draco was obviously failing. Perhaps if Draco had invested himself earlier this all would not be happening. Maybe it really was too late to save his family's company. _

"_So I suppose we'll discuss this with the investor's on Monday," Blaise was saying. His expression was almost painful to look at, as if he were flushing away all of the work he'd spent doing for the past ten years. And it probably did seem that way to him, that much Draco could understand. "You'll be there, won't you, Draco?" _

"_No," Draco responded sharply. Blaise rolled his eyes, and for some reason the other members in the room didn't seem all that surprised either. Draco didn't even bother glaring at them. "No, because we're not selling this company." _

_It was an awkward silence, but Draco didn't care enough to break it. All he knew was that he'd just started applying himself here, had just started to feel like he was good at something or another, that he was worth something other than having sex with a bunch of women, and now they were going to tell him that they were selling it all away? No fucking way in hell was Draco going to let that happen! At least not until he'd had his fill of productivity. Once that was gone, they could do whatever the fuck they'd like. _

_It was a one track mind, but that kind of thinking had benefited Draco up until this day, after all. _

"_Draco, we don't have very many options here," Blaise began in that annoying patient voice of his. Draco almost wanted to slap the man. Didn't he understand? There were always options, always things that could patch up the mistakes that had been made in the past. If Lucius of all people could do it, then so could he, goddamnit! "We have to consider this eventuality if we're going to survive."_

_Draco wasn't having any of it, though. After all, he only needed this whole job thing until Granger slept with him. Then he was sure he'd go back to being his old self – useless, lecherous, and uncaring. Which was completely fine with him, but that had to come _later_ not _before_ his time with Granger was up. _

"_Look, I'm sure we can turn this thing around," Draco began impatiently with a wave of his hand. _

"_It's not as if I have all the resources in the world, you know!" Blaise snapped. Draco could see that Blaise's pupils were beginning to dilate, his hands clenched into fists. Blaise was going to snap under the pressure that had been building for over ten years, and if Draco let it snap now he was sure that it wouldn't end well for anyone involved. _

"_You," he said, pointing to the girl who looked startled that Draco had even addressed her. "You said I don't go to enough meetings, right? Well, we can start that right now." It sounded stupid to his own ears, even, but he knew Granger would be ecstatic to hear that he'd applied himself to this extent. That made him continue on with his poor attempt at planning. "And you said that people think we're going to fail, right?" The finance guy nodded. "Well then. We'll just have to make them think otherwise." _

"_How?" the man asked in that dull, sarcastic voice of his. He really did have an annoying fucking attitude, Draco realized. How the hell had he forgotten the fucker's name?_

_That was a really good question though. How? How did one go about changing people's minds on such things? If people had thought he was a failure in the past, he'd just take them out for a night on the town and then they'd see him in a whole new light. In fact, they'd have so much fun that they'd never forget his name. They'd always want to cling and all that, things Draco absolutely despised. _

_But that's what they needed in this situation, they needed people to cling. _

"_We're going to throw a party," Draco said suddenly, only just realizing that everyone had been staring intently at him, waiting for his brilliant idea. "We'll invite everyone, act like we've got things on track, and then they'll stop acting like such fuckers, right?" _

_Draco could immediately tell that Blaise thought it was a crap idea, just like Blaise thought all Draco's ideas were crap. And he supposed he could understand Blaise's thinking – of course, Draco would suggest throwing a party because that was all Draco knew how to do, right? But Blaise could just fuck off, because Draco didn't care. _

"_You know, I think you might actually have something there," the PR guy said. "It'd do great for the press coverage. We could call everyone from News Weekly, Daily Prophet, and all... I know the editor in Chief of the Daily Prophet. She could probably give us front page if we bribed her enough." _

"_The press coverage would probably help us in the stocks. Anything would at this point," the goblin added. _

"_And we could bag a few investors if it's flashy enough," the girl added. "It's not a bad idea. We'd just need to make sure the right people show up so that it looks good."_

_They all turned towards Blaise who it appeared felt like everyone was turning against him, which they clearly were. Of course he'd hate it if someone, anyone supported Draco's crackpot ideas. And Blaise probably felt like it wasn't going to work, either, which Draco didn't know was an entirely unfounded worry. But they had to try, didn't they? They had to do everything in their power just to say they'd given their best shot. At least, that's how Draco saw it. _

_Apparently, Blaise felt the same way because he rolled his eyes, gave Draco a long and pointed glare before he grudgingly nodded. "Have a guest list and a potential expense budget on my desk by tomorrow." _

_A flourish of activity began in the room, papers were gathered, plans were beginning to be formed. There was even a sense of excitement passing through everyone, as if this were actually something that was going to help them get through this rough patch. A rough patch they'd been facing ever since Lucius Malfoy had gotten sick and then died. Draco didn't know if his crackpot idea would actually work – after all, what the fuck did he know about business? And he knew Blaise knew this. Blaise knew everything there was to know about Draco and how his mind worked. _

_So when Draco got up with a smirk in Blaise's direction, he knew he was probably pushing the other man's patience. It was one thing to attempt to be productive, quite another to take over the business. Especially when the other man obviously knew what he was doing. But Draco couldn't care. Draco knew what he wanted and wasn't afraid to go after it. In this case, he supposed it was feeling like his ideas were worth something. _

"_Get the fuck out of my office, you great pig!" Blaise shouted when he realized he was supposed to show his discontent out loud. Draco snickered as he made his way out to the makeshift room they'd given him to serve as his office space. _

_As he shut the door behind him, he could've sworn he heard Blaise chuckling as well. _

/

"...And Blaise was rather annoyed I actually had an idea everyone liked," Draco finished, nearly winded at the fast pace in which he'd told Granger his recounting of the previous evening.

"That's... wow, Draco. Good job!" She seemed rather excited for him. He didn't know if it was genuine or not, but he was too shallow to care. He'd take anything at this point, really, even if she really was just being polite. He had a vivid imagination. He could just _pretend _that she was thrilled at his achievement, and then he'd imagine her stripping, probably.

What a fantastic fantasy.

He hadn't expected to be in such high spirits, hadn't expected her to even take the time to talk to him about anything. In fact, he hadn't expected her to be home at all. It was Saturday, after all, and Saturday's were her days off. She normally didn't talk to him on Saturday's, barely acknowledged him when she went to run her errands, either.

But for some reason, she had asked if it were him when he had thrown himself on the floor outside her door in an ungraceful heap. And then she'd come and asked him how his day had went. It had been the singularly most amazing experience in his altogether pathetic life. He had had to stop himself from moaning at the prospect that she was actually considering him, even in the barest of senses.

"Do you actually think the party will work, though?" she asked. He could hear the scratching of a quill and wondered what she was doing. Was she writing a letter to Potter? Weasley? Weaslette? He had seen her having lunch with Weaslette yesterday like she did every Friday. "Save the company from a merger, I mean."

"Nope," he responded cheerily.

That made her chuckle. "You certainly don't sound to upset about it," she responded.

He shrugged, but then remembered she couldn't actually see him from the other side of the door. "It won't matter in the end. I'll have done my part, see? It's a lot of bloody work though, this Malfoy Industries crap."

This time she actually did laugh. "It's supposed to be, you strange man! If your job isn't a lot of work, it's probably not fulfilling enough for you." He could hear her getting up to go away, and realized that was probably the end of their conversation.

"True enough," he muttered with a smile, even though he knew she was probably already gone and couldn't hear him. He shrugged to himself again and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes and humming a toneless tune to himself. He was still in high spirits, after all. Might as well act the part even if there was no one there to share it with him.

Unbeknownst to him, Hermione was pressed against the front door of her flat, breathing as silently as she possibly could, watching Draco Malfoy act as human as she'd ever seen him. And for some reason, she didn't mind being curled up in such an uncomfortable position on the floor. It was her day of rest, yes, but she didn't mind spending it listening to the curious thing that was Malfoy.

He was an enigma, after all, and she was entranced.

/

Things were looking up, she supposed. Malfoy had stopped stalking her to the point where she couldn't even breathe since he was busy working his arse off these days. Sure, Ginny still kept make crude suggestions about what she ought to do to Malfoy in the sack, but that was just Ginny being Ginny. Of course, Harry was still shocked at her behaviour, couldn't believe that she was dating _Malfoy _of all people (When were people just going to get over the stupid fucking rumour?) and he had taken to badgering her with owls.

And of course, Ron still gave her those goddamn looks whenever she had the misfortune to bump into him. It was a wilting kind of stare, as if she'd betrayed him (which in his head she probably had) as if she was never ever going to be with him ever again.

Of course she wasn't ever going to be with him ever again! Was the man delusional? He hadn't proposed in ten years, clearly that was a sign to _any _woman to move the fuck on because that relationship was obviously not going anywhere. She'd stopped thinking about him, even, because he had suddenly ceased to matter. It was time he ought to take a leaf from her book and grow up. They were _all _getting old. No one had the time to act so foolish anymore.

Except for her, of course.

It pained her to think it, but she was acting more childish than all of them combined. If that wasn't pathetic, what was? She had taken to listening to Malfoy breathe outside her door, had actually started to enjoy their nonsensical conversations and participated enthusiastically. She started having these odd fantasies of just opening that goddamn door to see his expression as he articulated his opinion on something or another.

It was almost like a school girl crush, except she wasn't all that keen of screwing his brains out. Sure, he was attractive, but thinking about things like that made her blush a little bit, to be honest. It wasn't that she wasn't a sexual being, she just wasn't a sexual being with _Malfoy. _

But he had a sense of humour, was intelligent, seemingly cared about her, and all that. What girl wouldn't have those kinds of feelings? Sometimes, she just wanted to straddle him in her office chair and run her hands through his silky blond hair while he read her something mundane like the Daily Prophet, just so she could hear his all too gorgeous voice.

It was _pathetic. _

She was startled out of her thoughts when someone called her name. She looked up to find an irritated Sasha, the Deputy-Head glaring at her. Sasha, who had the patience of a blast-ended skrewt, had apparently been calling her name for a while now, but she had been lost in her thoughts and obviously too dazed to care.

"Can I help you with something?" Hermione asked as pleasantly as she could, which wasn't _too _hard since she was actually in a decent mood that day.

"No," Sasha responded curtly. Gods, the woman was a bitch. How the hell had she even got to the position of Deputy Head? She was clearly useless, arrogant, annoying, and obviously not good at her job. Someone really ought to fire her, or cut her head off, perhaps stab her if they so dared... "I just wanted to let you know that your proposal for the removal of restrictions on Centaurs has been declined. _Again." _

She stared at Hermione accusingly. Of course, how _dare _Hermione make her do all that work that was her fucking job! Then, she spun on her pompous heel and sped off without another word, as if she'd catch Hermione's tendency to be productive if she stuck around long enough. The stupid cunt! Oh one day... One day she would get hers, and Hermione would laugh as hard and long as she could on that day. It would be wonderful.

But that day was rather far off, Hermione realized, and her proposal (and essentially anything she did around here) was not going to get any recognition. She didn't yell, scream, kick people, or quit like she wanted to, like her body and mind told her to do. No, she calmly got up, picked up her bag as gently as she possibly could and stormed her way out of the Ministry as fast as humanly possible.

It was a fucking nightmare.

She didn't need to pay attention to know that all of her co-workers were probably talking behind her back. Of course they would be! She was the freak that actually wanted to get stuff done, the only one that actually cared. Why wouldn't they talk about her? She was the psycho, the weirdo, the one that was dating Malfoy the playboy.

And for once in her life, she couldn't care less.

/

When he showed up at Granger's flat, he was surprised to find a box with his name on it. He approached it suspiciously, after all why would there be a box with his name on it outside of Granger's flat? It was strange as fuck. It could be possible that Weasley had left it there to ambush him. Perhaps it held a dark curse in it, or even a painful jinx. Draco _really _didn't want to go back to St. Mungos anytime soon, especially since his last experience with the psychotic healers had been particularly dreadful.

"Granger?" he called tentatively, edging suspiciously around the box, which was placed exactly where he would normally throw himself down to sit.

He heard her walk towards the door and then pause, as if actually considering talking to him or ignoring him. And she could have too, ignored him. There really was nothing he could've done about it. Instead, to his utter relief, she sighed and seemed to make up her mind.

"Yes?" she called back just as quietly.

"Why is there a box here for me?" he questioned, hoping she'd seen it or even caught Weasley putting it there. Unless _she _had told Weasley to put it there! That would be horrid. Her, teaming up with Weasley to get him while he was all tired and groggy. Wouldn't that just be the worst day of his life? Or perhaps _she _had done it! That would be infinitely worse, he realized.

"Erm. I made dinner... thought you might like some," she muttered pathetically, as if she wasn't proud of associating herself with the likes of him. Or maybe she was just embarrassed. Draco didn't care, he was just elated that she had actually _thought _of him. He opened it to find five slices of lasagna put under a heating charm so it would be warm when he got to it. "You don't have to eat it of course, I just thought-"

"Are you kidding? This is great! I'm famished. Though I don't know if you're attempting to fatten me up with this much food, or not. Ought I to be offended?" he interrupted gleefully, talking in high speed while sinking down onto the floor to devour the thoughtful meal. He grinned to himself when she chuckled, thinking that this probably _was _the best day of his life so far. "How was your day, then?"

She sighed again. "Horrid. Atrocious. The _worst._"

"What happened?" he automatically asked, even though his mouth was clearly half full. He hoped she didn't mind his lack of manners – and she didn't seem to – he was just _that _hungry. He'd missed lunch because Blaise was a fucking dictator. "Monsters at work get you again?"

"Ha ha, very funny," Hermione responded sarcastically. She was mumbling back in that sad little way that she had.

He immediately felt a thrill go through him. One immensely positive because she was actually taking the time to talk to him and actually be honest about it, but a negative one as well. He wished he'd been there to beat the crap out of whoever and whatever had gotten her spirits even the slightest bit low. The prospect scared him to be honest, but he couldn't stop to analyze it because she talking again.

"No, they just rejected my proposal. _Again. _It's nearly impossible to get anything done there! Can you imagine?" She seemed rather depressed about it, too.

He wasn't surprised, though. Her current employment situation was absolutely _dismal. _If he had had to put up with such imbeciles and inferiority every day of the work week, he'd have gone insane by now, surely. He had to commend her for her will power though, just the fact that she got up every day and actually bothered going to work. And not just that, she actually bloody _tried, _too. If he had more sense, he'd want to be just like her.

"I can very well imagine," he responded with a chuckle when he realized it wasn't a rhetorical question. "You expect too much out of people who are _clearly _beneath you."

But she didn't make an agreeable noise like she should have or thank him for his obviously wise compliment. No, all she did was sigh again. "Why is it so hard to care? Why would you do a job you don't care about anyway?" she asked him, obviously put out at the seemingly simple question.

"For the money?" he offered teasingly.

"But that's just ridiculous! If you're going to do a job, even if it _is _just for the money, why wouldn't you do a good job at it, you know?" she continued. He was surprised they'd even had a conversation this long and she hadn't once criticized him yet. He was thrilled. "Where is the integrity? Why don't people just _care _anymore? It's not like it takes all that much effort."

She seemed so morose about it that he was surprised. Surely she wasn't expecting anything else from the Ministry of Magic – a government that had basically let itself be controlled by a snake? Or perhaps Granger was such an idealist that she couldn't see reality when it struck her in the face.

He then realized that she seriously didn't get it. Whether they were just naive notions about how the world actually worked or whether she was just feeling particularly helpless at that moment, but surely she understood how things at the Ministry worked, didn't she? She'd been there long enough. Hadn't it already been ten years? There was no way she had just uselessly shuffled from department to department attempting to implement her unrealistic ideals in the most unrealistic of fashions.

"Surely you know the order of things, Granger," Draco reasoned. It _was _reasonable after all for him to expect her to know something as simple as this. She was the smartest witch of their age and all that. "It's how politics work, doll."

He didn't need to peer through to the other side of the door to know she had stiffened and was probably glaring indignantly at him through the wall. So characteristically Granger. She was like that after all, rather easy to offend. She could criticize other people until she turned blue in the face, but there was no way in hell she could ever accept criticism – especially from him – without a fight.

"What's _that _supposed to mean, then?" she stiffly asked him. He was surprised that she was asking a civil question and not yelling at him to fuck off. "You think my proposals aren't good enough? I consider _everything! _They're cost effective and actually dealing with real problems, thank you very much!"

He could hear her huffing on the other side of the door and had to literally stop himself from bursting out into laughter. Granger really was too good to be true. "I'm sure your proposals are just fine, just not the way you're attempting to get them done," he soothed, though probably not soothing enough because she snorted.

"I follow _all _the protocols, Malfoy," she responded. He could hear the condescension in her voice and had to grin to himself. For once he understood something better than she did and he sure as hell wasn't going to let her get away with it so easily! Nonetheless, she was probably lifting her chin in that adorable (No, _annoying!) _way she had that really just set his mind on fire (in irritation...obviously...).

"You're never going to get those bloody imbeciles to do anything without forcing them," he said, a little bit too imperiously for her tastes probably because she was scoffing again. The girl really was too defensive for her own good when it came to him. "Or twisting someone's arm until they relent, I suppose. _I _prefer more subtle techniques, of course."

"I'm not _blackmailing _anyone! That's...that's just immoral!"

"But that's politics, Granger," he said in that even, measured tone she liked. "You have to play by the rules of the game if you want to get anything done."

She was silent for a while then and he thought that she might have actually been offended enough to leave him there by himself. But he wouldn't have minded, in fact he was sitting there with a broad smile on his face. In all the weeks he'd been stalking Granger, this was probably the first time he'd one upped her, and hell did it feel absolutely amazing. When he heard her shuffle directly on the other side of the door, he started. He hadn't realized she was that close. Was she leaning against the door? Could she possibly be that close?

He didn't dare move lest she scamper away.

Instead, he decided to help her. What else could he do? When she was happy, his body was happy. And if he was being entirely honest, his mind would be happy too.

"It's actually quite easy," he said in a low voice, just so she could ignore him if she really wanted to. "For example, you know that lady in that office next to yours? Marian? She's been cheating on her husband for at _least _a year."

Hermione gasped. "That's... how do you know?"

He grinned. So she _was _listening. "The man she's cheating on her husband with comes to the club I used to frequent before I met you. Besides, I caught them at it in the copier room a couple weeks back." She was stifling a chuckle and he couldn't help but grin wider at that. "And your deputy head, Sasha I think she's called? She likes to get it on with boys half her age."

"But she's thirty!" she nearly squeaked, clearly shocked. "That's illegal, Draco. How do you even know that it's true? Don't tell me you actually saw it happen!" But she didn't give him an actual chance to respond. She was shuffling, getting up, moving, and mumbling to herself like a mad woman. "_I'm _going to write this down. Stay there."

But how could he possibly move when she'd called him by his first name for the very first time ever? It was almost like an insane thrill had gone through him, freezing him, and rendering him speechless. If that was what it felt like to have her pay attention to him, what would it feel like to be able to touch her? To have her smile... to finally be buried within her?

He very nearly came undone right there.

But all too soon she was back and demanding to know what else he knew. Of course he'd tell her everything and expect nothing back in return. Of course he would, because what other choice did he have? She didn't seem to notice her little slip of the tongue, but _he _was hyper aware for the rest of the evening. He noticed every time she laughed, sighed, even shifted.

And long after she had fallen asleep among her several sheets of notes that she'd taken, right there on the other side of the door, Draco had pressed as close to the door as he could so he could hear her gentle breathing. There he spent several hours wishing, just wishing he could just _see _her, if not have her and that she wouldn't mind such an intrusion.

But it was wishful thinking at best, and when morning came he had to snap out of it and leave the peacefully sleeping Hermione behind.

/

The next day was probably one of the best days of Hermione's life. It was at least in the top ten, if she were being completely honest, and it was all thanks to Malfoy and his deviousness. Really, she didn't know how she could repay him (not that this meant she'd suddenly start screwing him like a rabbit) but this was...well, it was amazing.

She had gone to work that day with a huge smile on her face. Malfoy had already left before she'd even gotten up for work (and she'd been rather sore because she'd passed out on the floor without even a cushioning charm or two – how _idiotic) _but that had been fine. It wasn't like she had planned to make him breakfast if he'd stayed or anything.

Of course not. What a ridiculous suggestion.

All day she'd subtly cornered every single person Draco had given her dirt on and they'd had the best expressions she'd ever seen. Marian had literally spit out the tea she'd been sipping and Sasha had blanched to the point where Hermione had thought she might actually faint. It had been the best day of her entire career, not just because she hated all of their guts to the point where she wanted to stab them and revenge was just so sweet. It was also because they were being entirely _too _helpful now.

In fact, this was probably the first time in ten years a proposal of hers was being passed without any second guesses or remarks. And probably the first time _ever _that anyone was listening to anything she had to say without criticizing it first.

And it was all thanks to Malfoy and his evil genius.

She almost felt bad for doing it, too. It was obviously very immoral of her to do something this poor and some of her co-workers really ought to consider seeing someone at St. Mungo's psych ward. But this was for the greater good. It was for the betterment of Wizarding society. It wasn't because she enjoyed seeing her co-workers squirm like she was about to stomp the light out of their pathetic little eyes.

It was absolutely fantastic and she told him just that when he showed up from work. She had left him dinner again as a thank you for all of his help (at least, that's what she'd convinced herself it was) and he seemed to appreciate it. He'd said thank you at least a _hundred _times and had seemed genuinely pleased when she told him how her day had went.

It was oddly surreal.

"I told you so, Granger," he'd said in the lightest tone she'd ever heard from him. It sent shivers down her spine and she was gladder than ever before that he couldn't see her or her pathetic expression. Thank god for the door, even though it was rather strange of them to do something like this – like _hide_. But by now it was routine. He wasn't questioning it, so she wouldn't either. "It should make your life much easier, I'd say!"

They sat in silence then. She could hear him breathing, could hear him eating the food she'd made him quietly. It was rather odd. She actually _wanted _him to talk, wanted to hear his voice, that cultured tone he had and the nice way he spoke to her. She didn't know where this urge had come from or why it was plaguing her now, just that it was there and she couldn't stand the silence.

So she broke it, just for the sake of saying something. "Why did you help me, Malfoy?" she asked. She already knew the answer – he was on veela blood and wanted to get into her pants, _obviously. _They'd established that much a long time ago. But she just didn't want to sit in silence anymore.

"You seemed rather depressed, that's all," he said. She imagined he was probably shrugging and wondered whether or not she ought to open the door a crack to confirm. "What's your favourite colour?"

His answer (which _hadn't _been that he wanted to get into her good graces) had shocked her because it sounded sincere. So sincere in fact that she answered his question without even thinking about it. "It's purple, I guess. It changes every day."

"Fascinating," he muttered. She didn't see what could possibly be fascinating about her favourite colour of all things, but she didn't comment. He sounded rather sincere about _that _too, after all. Perhaps she was imagining his tone of voice because she was somehow starved of company. Or perhaps he was just that great of an actor. "What's your favourite hobby?"

"Er... I guess I have a lot of them, I suppose," she muttered, shrugging. "Why are you asking, anyway?" He was behaving rather strangely, after all. She supposed she had the right to know.

He didn't know _why _he was asking, exactly, just that they ought to be on even ground. More than that, he was curious. He felt like he ought to know the person his heart desired from the inside out, whether she liked it or not, and stalking only got one so far. He could know what she did, what she apparently liked, but he could never know her thoughts if she didn't let him be privy to them.

"I'm curious, I suppose," he responded instead, not wanting to make the situation suddenly awkward. Granger ran from awkward like animals ran from danger. It was a lethal combination, one he had learned to avoid very early on in their odd relationship. "So, what are your hobbies?"

She was confused, but still in good spirits. He _had _helped her after all. What harm could it possibly do answering a few innocent questions? "Well. I like to read-"

"Figures," he snorted, interrupting her before she'd even really begun.

"Hey! This is _my _list," she admonished. She accepted his cheeky apology before continuing. "I suppose I used to love going over to the Weasley's on Sundays. We used to have lunch and I'd watch the boys play Quidditch. Haven't done that in ages though..." she trailed off thoughtfully.

"Because of the freckled ginger twat?" he asked casually, which really only made her burst out into laughter. She knew she shouldn't have, shouldn't have encouraged him like that at least – but she had to be honest. It was quite a funny insult. "I can't imagine why you'd ever want to be with him anyway."

And for some reason, she couldn't imagine why either.

/

That week was perhaps one of the strangest weeks of her life. She came home every day and made dinner for herself and Draco Malfoy. If anyone had even suggested something like that to her before in the past, she probably would have laughed until she'd have cried. But now, it was a stark reality. And now, she really didn't mind the prospect of sharing her food with him.

It was only food after all, right?

And he'd come every night to her door as sure as the sun would rise. She'd never open the door to let him in and he wouldn't ask. It was commonly understood that this was as far as it would ever go, and for some reason it seemed that he was okay with it. At least he never brought it up in the strange conversations that they would have.

And boy did they talk. Every night without fail, he'd ask her some strange question or another, and they'd be at it for hours until she'd eventually fall asleep. He'd always be gone before she even had the chance to wake up to say good morning. She didn't know why, but sometimes she had the strangest longing to do just that – say hello to him in the morning and just _know _he'd stayed the whole night. But it was better this way, she reasoned, better for her already dwindling sanity.

Because surely it was insane to let Malfoy talk to her like they knew each other, wasn't it? And surely it was worse to enjoy the conversations too. But that was the reality of her life now. She actually _liked _the conversations they had, just because he was intelligent and had a great voice (something she didn't even know she liked in a man).

That night she made butternut squash ravioli, with a side of vegetables and a salad. She even made strawberry cheesecake from scratch. Hermione wasn't stupid, she knew she was doing all this extra work to impress him, but his reactions were always worth the extra work. He'd make actual _noises _whilst eating and compliment her bloody ears off until she'd finally tell him to stuff it.

That night wasn't the night he disappointed her expectations.

"God, Granger," he nearly moaned. "You ought to just quit your job and become a bloody chef, I swear." She blushed and was so glad he couldn't see her right at that moment, because she would've been insanely mortified. He _did not _need to see her grin to herself at his compliments. How bloody embarrassing would that have been? "Seriously! I'll open you a restaurant myself if I have to."

"Well, I'm glad you like it," she offered sincerely. Not many people gave her compliments on her food. Well, Ron had, but Ron liked to stuff his face with just about anything that was available, so his point of view wasn't exactly a good indicator. Malfoy on the other hand must have dined in the most expensive places known to mankind. Surely he knew what was good and what was not.

"It's nothing really."

Lie.

"Just whipped it up at a whim..."

_Lie. _He'd expressed his love for strawberry cheesecake exactly five days ago.

"You know. No big deal..."

LIE!

He had the good grace not to comment or even call her out on her lie like any of her other friends would have done, and for that she liked his presence all the more. He had tact, she could give him that, and he knew how to make an awkward situation... well, _not _awkward.

Ron certainly hadn't had that ability. The man literally spewed out whatever was on his mind, regardless of her feelings and anyone else's for that matter. What was even stranger, when she was younger she'd actually admired that about him, his ability to say whatever he wanted without caring about whatever anyone else thought of him. Now she knew better. Now she knew it wasn't _intentional _on his part. He literally just wasn't aware that he was hurting anyone else's feelings to begin with. There was no courage involved, like she'd mistakenly thought, just plain ignorance.

But there was no point comparing Ron to Malfoy, obviously, because Malfoy asked questions Ron wouldn't ever have dreamed of even inquiring after. It was strange, finding out things that she appreciated in humans in _Malfoy _of all people. Who would have thought? It wasn't as if she'd gone out determined to find someone she could tolerate after she'd made the conscious decision to leave Ron.

_No, he just was determined to find you. _

She literally had to shake herself out of her own thoughts when she realized Malfoy was talking to her. "What?" she asked.

"I asked what you were going to do on your next vacation," he reiterated.

The question stumped her. She hadn't taken a proper vacation in _years, _she supposed. In fact, not once in her ten years of working at the Ministry had she actually taken a week off for anything. A personal day or two, sure, maybe a Friday off once in a while if she was feeling rebellious, but never an actual vacation. Her friends thought she was absolutely barmy – but where would she go? And with whom? Her inattentive boyfriend?

"I don't know," she replied honestly. And she didn't. She hadn't considered this kind of thing since she was young and naive. Now she knew better. Now she knew vacations were for people who had time to share with _other _people. And she hadn't had that, really. Not truly. "What about you?"

"I'll probably go to Italy if I ever have the time again," Malfoy responded. She was still shocked that he was honest about things, actually answered her prying questions. Most people got annoyed by question three and left her by her lonesome. "But seriously, where would you go? You must have _some _idea, something you've always wanted to do?"

Well there were many things she'd always wanted to do.

"Well, I've always wanted to climb Kilimanjaro and see the Amazon, you know, bold and adventurous things like that," she replied. She had always wanted to be an adventurer as a kid, had read about these amazing places and things and had wanted to just lie there in the sun and soak it all up. But her fantasies had remained as just that – fantasies.

"Well, why don't you?"

That was rather obvious. So obvious that she was surprised he was even asking. "Well, I'll get _killed _obviously! Those places are dangerous. That's why normal people don't just go there for fun, you know!" She shook her head at his absurd questions, the fact that he just didn't understand how her mind worked.

"So you're saying you're afraid of the things you most want to do?" he asked. He burst out laughing when she affirmed, which she obviously didn't understand. "I don't understand. _Why?" _

"Because I'm afraid of them..." she responded, slowly. She hadn't realized it before, but it was true. She was afraid of wanting things, afraid of achieving them, afraid of even considering that they were possible. "I suppose that's just how fears work, don't they?"

"That's like saying you like swimming but you'll never go because you're afraid of drowning. It's nonsensical, Granger!" he said, clearly confused.

"But that's the point. They're _irrational. _They don't _need _to make sense!" she responded, just as enthusiastically. "Fears aren't always explanatory. You don't always have to have an explanation for everything, either."

"That's rich, coming from you, Granger," he quipped, bursting out into laughter at her indignant snort. After a few moments, she joined his insane laughter, unable to resist. It wasn't too bad. He could make fun of her and make her feel alright about it too. She'd survive because it was funny.

And it was. It really was.

**A/N: So this chapter was a little shorter than the others, and it's probably a little bit on the filler side AND it's unbetaed, but I still kind of like it. What did you all think? Here's a spoiler until next time: **

"_**I always thought I'd just die alone," he whispered so quietly that she thought she might have just imagined it. **_

"_**I always thought I'd die misunderstood," she whispered back. **_

**Unsigned Reviews: **

**Anonymous Reviewer Without a Name: **Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying. I generally update weekly and normally on Friday's (though this isn't always the case).

**Alexybath: **Sorry for keeping you waiting. Glad you're enjoying though! Thank you for reviewing.

**Yolandadcup: **Thank you for reviewing!

**C: **I generally like to build on intensity, yes! Though this chapter wasn't as much. I hope Hermione (and her bitchiness) was more likeable in this chapter. Thank you for reviewing!

**RideEmLikeACowboyJazzy: **Because your private messaging is disabled, I'll leave this here for you. Thank you for your three LOVELY reviews, they certainly made my day. There's just this special little feeling of having people quote your own stuff back at you – yeah, I'm totally narcissistic. :D I'm glad you're enjoying!

**Tinynoe: **I do love addicts, if you know what I mean! This chapter (and the next) are full of Hermione/Draco interaction, so I'm hoping you'll like them both. Let me know! I usually update weekly, generally on Fridays (though don't hold me to it!) Thank you for reviewing :)

**Buttercup: **I have to say, writing Ginny is definitely an indulgence so I'm glad that's as good for you as it is for me. Glad you're liking it! Thanks for reviewing, as always. Have a brilliant week!


	8. Hummingbird

A/N: I am so incredibly sorry about the whole skipping ANOTHER week on the update front. You should know that writing this was extremely difficult, maybe because of the nature of this chapter. I know all of you are INCREDIBLY understanding, but I just wanted to let you all know that I really am sorry!

We are officially halfway done with this story! Excited? Sad? Depressed? This chapter is kind of actually a peaking point – you'll see why starting chapter 9. But enough of this, on we go!

Thank you to all my reviewers: Anonymous Reviewer, mgmve2008, Venetiangrl92, Akemi333, KenLuverDH, PoisonXHeart, HarryPGinnyW4eva(2), Rephiamlove, TwinzLover, Strawberries and Cream, Inkith, Talis Ruadair, glitterboden, PrettyChelsea, Missblinkette, OrangeJuice7, fivoulous11, And I was Like OMG, loveroffelton, xenaz3, JRRTFrk, Alexybath, buttercup, Khoes, Amelia Raihan, Rose Schultz, and c.

**This chapter is dedicated to Alexybath for their ingenuity and alina290, who I hope is feeling much better now and recovered.**

_**Song Selection for this Chapter: Hummingbird by Born Ruffians **_

**Chapter Eight: Hummingbird**

A week turned into two and two very quickly turned into three. Soon, she and Malfoy had actually become _acquainted, _if anyone could believe it. He told her things about himself at random hours throughout the night and she told him things that she wasn't sure she ought to, but did anyway. She wasn't sure why she even bothered talking to him, why she let the conversations continue. She only knew that they were nice to have and that there was a huge barrier between them.

He was _always _on the other side and nothing would change _that, _at least.

It was safe. She couldn't imagine how she would have handled the situation if she actually had to see him when they spoke. She had never been good at communicating personal things, had always taken weeks to prepare whatever it was that was on her mind to tell her friends if such a thing was ever necessary. But with him, it was _always _close and personal, so much so that she didn't even have time to prepare before it was already out on the table and they were on to other subjects.

It would've been a nightmare if she didn't have the safety of her own apartment, where he could never come in and enter, could never really criticize her face to face. It was a blessing that he was as inexperienced with the situation as she was. She had a feeling he had _never _had to share anything close and personal with anyone before.

It made it easier but all the more frightening.

Most of the time, she didn't even think about it, was just glad for the company that she never even knew she'd craved. Hermione had always been a solitary person, had never questioned it either. He made her see things about herself that she didn't really want to see. He made her acknowledge things that really ought to have been left alone, but she didn't mind saying them in front of him because he never brought it up again or taunted her with it like he _should _have.

All she knew was that they were falling into a dangerous routine, but she didn't just want to stop going because he expected her to sleep with him when all was said and done. She wasn't naive; she _knew _that's where his mind was at probably eighty percent of the time. But did that mean she was just to forfeit everything else he had to offer? After all, that was what all men wanted in the end, right? She could just ignore it for the time being, at least.

If only for the time being.

And it was with that horrendously heavy thought in her head that she sighed and snuggled deeper into the cocoon of blankets she had made for herself right in front of her front door. Malfoy was there, presumably sleeping. She could hear his steady breathing, even though she was literally buried in a pile of blankets. If he was awake, he wasn't saying anything.

She didn't mind that though. Silence with him was like sitting through a rainstorm. It raged and calmed, soothed and destroyed – you really didn't need to break it because it's just what _was. _The silence wasn't silent at all. She was grateful for him just being there for that moment, there in that little space of time she'd never get back.

But she didn't want it back either.

At least it was someone instead of no one. At least in the end, that was what would matter. At the very least, she still had her mind with her to tell her what was right or wrong. As she snuggled back into her pillow, closing her eyes to let sleep overcome her and not understanding why she just didn't _go to bed, _she was comforted by the thought that she was smart enough not to screw up.

She wouldn't just open the door and snuggle against Malfoy in the hallway. She was the smartest witch of her age and smart witches surely did not do something as silly as that. And because she was smart, she'd never do something so _stupid. _Because she was infallible and he wasn't going to take that kind of stupid bullshit from her. It was stupid. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid...

It was stupid, wasn't it? _Wasn't _it?

/

Draco yawned, stretching and hearing the bones in his back pop as he did so. That only made him wince, stretch his neck to the side, only to wince again because the bones there popped too. He had made it a habit to avoid using cushioning charms just so he could feel the ache in his body to remind him that yeah, he actually _had _spent all night talking to Granger and not just dreaming the whole thing up.

But damn, he really ought to stop doing such silly, masochistic things to himself. As if he weren't in enough pain already! Not sleeping enough, not eating enough besides what Granger gave him and what Blaise had the decency to allow him at work. It was really starting to take a toll on him.

Even _he _wasn't good enough to maintain a stalking schedule and work at the same time, even though he didn't actually do all that much at work to begin with. No_ wonder _Blaise had so many problems at home. No wonder Pansy refused to marry the idiot even though she was clearly in love with him. There was no way that marriage would last with the number of hours Blaise worked.

There was no way _he _would last between the working, planning the goddamn party, and Granger.

It was stretching him too thin. Sure, he'd get a nap in here and there, but never long enough to feel rested. The only time he actually felt _calm _and _collected, _or really anything like himself at all, was when he was with Granger and neither of them were saying anything. Those long silences were like a balm to his soul. She was presumably sleeping, but he didn't mind. The sound of her gentle breathing was enough to tide him over to the next day.

In fact, if he pressed himself close enough to her front door, close enough so that his ear was pressed against the smooth wood, he could hear her steady breathing. Why she slept here, on the other side of the door – with _him _right there – he had no idea. It continued to amaze him that she even took the time to talk to him, let alone stay there long enough to actually fall asleep.

Perhaps she just grew tired and that's why she fell asleep. Perhaps she just accidently talked to him so long that she couldn't help but fall asleep.

But every night? That was just absurd.

No girl slept on the floor if she had a perfectly good bed waiting for her somewhere else. Draco had learned much about women and their requirements, preferences, indulgences over the years. He _knew _they liked comfort, wouldn't forgo it for just anything. Not unless there was a good reason. And Granger was perfectly reasonable. She would never do something so irrational without just cause.

Nevertheless, there was no way in hell he was going to raise hope in his chest, only to be crushed again. Granger was good at that, slicing his chest open and making him want to die because she didn't want him. It didn't matter if she was being civil and goddamn nice to him now – any second now she could turn on him and sink her sharp little teeth into his neck. She was ruthless enough to rip out his jugular, and people really ought not to be fooled by her soft curves and pretty smile.

"Malfoy?" a sleepy whisper filtered through the door. Her voice made him jump, causing him to scrape his knee against the hard floor, only barely managing to stifle a hiss. "Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me," he finally responded when his heart had calmed down to a more acceptable pace. She really ought not to scare him like that! He could get a heart attack or something. "No need to worry..."

Though why she would ever feel the need to worry about something as trivial as someone outside her door still managed to amaze him. There was no way anyone besides her friends would be able to figure out where she lived. In fact, it had taken him an insane amount of effort and stalking to figure it out for himself. And besides! How could anything malicious find its way into her apartment when _he _was here every single night without fucking fail? Surely she knew he would never ever let anything harm her if he could help it.

"I had a dream about you," she finally muttered back, starling him again. He had taken her silence as a sign of her falling back to sleep, which really just suited him fine. "We were at Hogwarts..." she trailed on in that half asleep voice of hers, "And you were really mean to me."

And just like that, Draco felt a flash of pain pass through his chest. Just the thought of her remembering something so _trivial _– and it was trivial because it was no longer relevant – made him want to tear his own heart out and give it to her just to make her feel better. Just to convince her that he wasn't like that anymore. If she thought of him as he was back then – arrogant, self obsessed, quite the little snot – then it was no wonder why she'd want nothing to do with him.

Who would?

But it was more than that. He had caused her pain and she _remembered _it. Probably vividly, too. The thought was enough to cause _him _pain. If only he could do something to make it better, anything within his power. He'd no doubt he'd do it. Because he needed her to know, desperately needed her to know this one fact: He was not that person anymore.

But no one could erase the past.

"Draco?' she called to him again. He realized that he'd fallen silent in thought and almost smacked himself on the head. How could he be so bloody inattentive? And towards someone like her?

"Yes, love, I'm here," he coaxed in his most soothing voice. It was a testament to how groggy she must have been because she didn't even scold him for being overly familiar with her like she would have any other time of the day. "What was your dream about?"

He heard her yawn and imagined how bloody adorable she must have looked right then. If only he could just touch her, just that once, then his life would be set. He just wanted to hold her really. She could keep all her clothes on, he _really _wouldn't mind at this point in his desperation. His muscles began to tighten, screw up just to stop himself from getting up to bang on the door. He couldn't risk demanding to be let in. He couldn't pressure her into anything. She could remove him, potentially, remove him completely from her life. He'd never survive that.

He just had to keep reminding himself of that little fact.

"You were in your school robes," she was saying, "and you called me a filthy little mudblood!" He cringed, letting out a large breath. "So I slapped you and you complained like a little girl – _honestly. _I didn't even hit you that hard. Then Pansy Parkinson called me a buck toothed, bushy haired bitch, but I was laughing too hard to be bothered – what? What's so funny?"

But Draco couldn't answer, because Draco couldn't breathe, he was laughing that hard. He didn't know why, exactly, only that thinking about Granger giving him physical abuse made him crack up hysterically. Perhaps it was because her mind was hilarious, or he was just that remorseful of ever calling her that vile name that he felt like he deserved to be hit. And of course he'd deserve it! But maybe he was just ecstatic that she was dreaming of him.

Maybe he had just finally lost it.

When he'd finally caught his breath and calmed the fuck down, his head was spinning. She didn't remark on how strange his behaviour was or demand him to leave. She didn't ask him to explain and he didn't fill her in.

"Yes, your expression _was _hilarious," was all she said. And he was thankful she hadn't forced him to spill what plagued his mind day and night. If she had, she'd have packed up and ran away from him, far away and never to come back. "I laughed a lot, too."

Instead, silence reigned, and he wanted her all the more for it.

"Malfoy?" she called to him again.

"Hm?"

"Why were you like that?" she asked tentatively. She seemed much more awake, at least more coherent. It was obvious only a fully conscious Granger would ever ask him something so personal, something he really didn't want to delve into. Not with anyone – especially not with _her. _"I mean, back then at Hogwarts. Why were you so..."

"Fucking annoying?" he filled in, hoping she'd just laugh it off and let it go. She did laugh, even agreed with him, but showed no sign of backing down. And it was just as well, he supposed, some things like the past just needed to be discussed. "I suppose I was rather a snot."

"Was it your father?" she asked after a moment of silence.

He considered it, _really _considered it. It wasn't as if he hadn't thought about these things himself on occasion. He'd spent a lot of time after the war reconciling with himself, with his life, and his actions. He'd come to several conclusions that had been relevant then, and since then he'd stuck to them. He'd reached his resolution when he was eighteen years old.

But that was the problem. He wasn't eighteen anymore and all those thoughts had been buried in the back of his mind since then. He had never opened the box, had never even wanted to discuss it. Because they were taboo. Talking about them would destroy the foundation upon which he had built his life. What was the point of living life without a foundation?

But if he really considered it, Hermione was already destroying his foundation, his beliefs, everything he stood for – what was one more thing? What was this, something that could potentially let him have her? It was just another thing to add to the pile. It was worth sacrificing his comfort for future gain. It was... He wouldn't _need _self-sufficiency when he had her, would he?

He gulped. He'd never discussed this with anyone before, at least not seriously.

"I suppose," he began tentatively. "It was ultimately a combination of things." And that was true. Everything had several factors.

"Like what?" Hermione asked, surprised that he was actually investing that much trust in her. She pressed herself closer to the door just to make sure that she didn't miss any of his gentle words. It was fascinating, watching an enigma like Malfoy open himself up to her.

He sighed heavily and she could almost imagine how that would feel, ruffling the hair at the top of her head. "It never used to matter, you know, analyzing why we did things the way we did. We just _did _them. You don't question your parents or how you're conditioned to be – because it's just that. You're _conditioned. _It wasn't until it was too late that anyone questioned what was going on."

"You mean, questioned joining Voldemort?" she quietly pressed. She heard his shuddering gasp even though he tried his best not to let her hear it. "It's alright."

"After the war...well," he paused, taking another calming breath. "I'd known the...Dark Lord... was a psychopath since the Dark Mark was forced on me."

The memory made him want to curl up into a little ball, made him want to flee, or at least fight the threat that was unapparent, lying in the very air before him. He wanted to leave here before he breathed it in, leave before it poisoned his mind, his body, his blood. Was anyone worth having this conversation? Was Hermione Granger really worth having this conversation forced upon him, the horrid memories he'd sworn behind?

Yes, he decided eventually. She definitely was.

"Everyone thought I'd willingly taken it, followed my father's footsteps and all that nonsense. But it wasn't true," he said, shuddering. "No, not true at all. Not that I wanted anyone else to know. So I acted proud, I guess. It was the only option to keep my family alive – and I wanted that, even though I knew my father was a despicable man by that time."

"So you didn't want it?" she questioned in that same gentle voice. It somehow comforted him. "At all?"

"Course not!" Draco responded, clearly aghast. His voice was so vehement that she took a surprised breath in to calm her racing heart. "I'd wanted nothing to do with the madness since the world cup!"

"When you told me to keep my head down," she concluded, quite correctly. Of course she would. She _was _smarter than many of the people he'd met. Probably smarter than them all. He could count on her to catch his train of thought even when no one else would.

"It was the first time I saw what it meant to be a pureblood – which had always been a burden to begin with. So many rules, regulations, customs I had to follow. You're trained into it, you know," he said, his voice choking up because it was all he'd given up. "You're trained to think it's what you ought to be doing. I never _liked _it, but it was my duty. Bunch of bullshit, really, but I'd just blindly accepted it until then. Until they started torturing those muggles..."

"And you thought it was wrong," she concluded. But that wasn't entirely true, was it?

"No," he disagreed. "I thought it was unnecessary. _Barbaric, _if you will. I saw it as a bunch of fools abusing their power – that's clearly not accomplishing anything, no social change comes from idiotic torture like that. And then..."

"And then?"

"And then I found out my father had led it," he finished with a shrug he knew she couldn't see. "Never really saw him the same ever again. I lost respect for him over the years. It was later, really, when I saw the madness the Dark Lord was spreading, what he was _really _doing that I thought – who the fuck really cares? It's all just blood in the end."

She didn't say anything more, she didn't have to. The point had been made. She understood that he'd done things in his life that he wasn't proud of, just like she must have done things she never wanted to ever remember again. He didn't have to speak the apology that was on his mind – she was already aware of it in every word he spoke, in all of his actions. But he said it anyway.

"I'm not that person anymore," he whispered to her, hoping she'd hear him clearly anyway. This was important, at least important for him to do, if anything. "Haven't been for a very long time."

"Then why are you like this?" she asked eventually, tentatively.

She didn't have to clarify for him to know what she meant. Everyone knew what Draco Malfoy was like – a charlatan, sleaze, useless, good for nothing, pleasure seeking, a money wasting bastard. It was rather obvious. He'd never been discreet about it, had never had to. He'd even been proud of it, had allowed himself to be made into the spectacle in the media. That was what his life had been about – there was no way she _hadn't _seen it.

But to explain why that was to her? To her – the purest Gryffindoresque princess that embodied the very definition of what courage and light meant? That was just asking to be shunned. That was just begging for rejection. There wasn't any way in hell he was going to give into this kind of a demand – because that's what it was.

"I don't know, Hermione," he said, hoping to placate her. Surely she wouldn't pursue it. Such a question had far too many consequences, enough for her to want nothing to do with him.

"But surely you know," she pressed, clearly not willing to let the subject drop lest the opportunity was taken away from her. He cringed again, glad that she wasn't able to at least see him. That made things a little easier, at least. "You must know something about it. Everyone does."

He sighed, but she seemed unrepentant. She wouldn't let him get away with bullshitting this time, like he'd bullshitted the same question with every single other person in his life. But he supposed she had the right to know him, to see his soul. He owed her that much. He had to if he wanted to have a chance to be with her – truly _be _with her. She'd never allow it otherwise.

"It's always easier to forget and do what you know you're good at," he admitted. It was honest enough, he supposed. Honest enough for her to not question him over it.

"But you could've done so much more," she mused quietly. "Why didn't you?"

It was true. Even though his name and his family name had been tarnished after the war, his father had helped rebuild it, no thanks to Draco of course. He eventually could have done anything with his life if he'd wanted to. But he _hadn't _wanted to, still didn't.

"When you're damaged goods and you know it, it's better to not risk it." And wasn't that the painful truth? "When you see things that you never thought existed and that kind of bloodshed, you don't ever think about it, if you can't help it. The risk of insanity would be too great."

"You're not insane," she whispered.

"I could be," he muttered back. "It's easier not to feel."

He didn't say anything more. He didn't have to.

/

Draco was at work at six A.M sharp the next day. It was an ungodly, unforgiving hour of the morning, something he'd never experienced unless he'd not slept the night before. Sure, it didn't seem so bad then when he was half drunk because then he'd have the rest of the day to sleep it off. But here? Like this? He would be required to work into the late hours of the night!

It was completely unnecessary, in his opinion. Surely he'd get more done if he actually had a good eight hours of sleep. But Blaise was stern and Blaise wouldn't have it any other way. So six bloody mother fucking in the morning it was.

By six fifteen he was already on his third cup of coffee and immersed in his thoughts of Hermione. She was no longer Granger – she was Hermione. _His _Hermione. She could hardly stay Granger if he'd confided in her things he hadn't even shared with himself, hadn't even shared with Blaise. There was no way that made sense – so he was accommodating.

What he _wasn't _accommodating was the annoying birds chirping outside his window. Why the fuck were they up so early? Come to think of it, how the fuck had they come up that high? Well, obviously they had wings and all, but it just didn't seem right. They ought to be in trees or some bloody nonsense like that.

"Draco," Blaise began in that annoying tone of voice he had. It was so fucking early in the morning, why was he already so awake? Why was Draco even called down here this early? He ought to be sleeping in Hermione's hallway at this time of the morning. "We need to talk."

"So talk," Draco muttered between sips. What would Hermione do? Would she open the window and stab the birds with her wand? She _was _feisty after all. But she was a do-gooder. Perhaps she'd scold Draco for thinking such violent thoughts.

It _was_ early in the morning, though, so maybe she'd forgive him.

Blaise was fidgeting, but Draco didn't notice. If he had, he'd probably have been concerned. Blaise never fidgeted, such actions were clearly below him. Years spent in Slytherin and pure blooded families had conditioned them to know how to hold their postures, how to walk, how to talk, and definitely how _not _to fidget. It was just one of those things that they just never did.

"There's a very good possibility that your party idea's going to leave us in the gutter..." But all Draco heard was _blah, blah, blah, blah de fucking blah. _In fact, what would Hermione do? Would she throw a good silencing charm Blaise's way and go back to sleep? "...Upon which time, I would like to propose a merger..." And so fucking formal. Who talked like they were writing a textbook constantly, anyway? "...my resignation. I've other offers, I hope you understand."

Draco just yawned. "Yeah, yeah, make the party work. You said that yesterday."

Blaise didn't say anything then, but only gave him a look that said: _you could have at least paid attention, you fucking wanker. _And for a second, Draco actually critically analyzed his friend, something he very rarely did. Blaise's posture was stiff, his hands clenched, his face screwed up to display a sort of muted anger, something Draco hadn't seen in a long time.

It was obvious that whatever Blaise had been trying to say, the sole reason that he had made Draco drag his arse all the way to work so early in the morning, had been insanely important – at least it had been important to Blaise. Perhaps Draco ought to have paid attention, no, he knew he really should have paid attention because that strangely disappointed look sad it all.

But then, the doors opened and the rest of the staff filed in. The spell was broken, and Blaise had already looked away. Draco didn't remember whatever it was Blaise had been saying, and it appeared as if Blaise had already forgotten all about it. Draco didn't know now and he certainly didn't care. Besides, he was too occupied with thinking about Granger – the only subject his tired mind could possibly put up with at this hour of the day.

But the day would come when Draco would be acutely aware of whatever it was Blaise had been trying to tell him. And when that day came, he would regret not paying more attention, not giving his friend the support he needed.

Regardless, Draco was blissfully unaware of what lay in his near future, uncertain of only one thing: When he'd next sleep again.

/

Many days had passed since that odd night Draco had confided in her. She'd had a slow few days, work hours just passing along in a sluggish fashion, and the nights spent in silence because Draco was probably too tired to talk.

But she didn't mind it. She had a lot to think about.

Like how Malfoy had trusted her enough to tell her something about his past. As far as she knew, he was a secretive person, only allowing the tabloids and the papers see the debauchery they so clearly loved. There was nothing more to it than that – a show. Perhaps he liked it like that, perhaps he didn't. But it was just that, he was _telling _her things she was sure he hadn't told anyone before.

It made her feel disgustingly special. How was it possible that he could trust her when she didn't even open the door for him? She had no doubt that he was telling her the truth. She was a good judge of character when it came down to it. If she wanted to make him drink vertiserum, he probably would. And that was what was so startling, so strange about him.

It wasn't just about the veela blood anymore.

He never asked for more than she could give him, never demanded anything anymore than she felt comfortable with. He was always calm, cool, cultured. But it was the worst because he answered anything she asked, would do anything she wanted, seemed to be madly obsessed in the way every woman wanted... But she just couldn't hand herself over to it.

"Hello, Hermione," she heard.

Her heart nearly stopped in surprise. She'd been so focused on her thoughts, on thinking about the devil, that she hadn't even heard his footsteps approaching her door. Her shaky hi must have tipped him off because he didn't say much more than that, just sat there quietly. She didn't know if he'd fallen asleep like he'd taken to doing for the past few days, or if he just liked to pretend because he didn't want to talk to her anymore.

"May I ask you something?" Draco softly said. He didn't want to startle her again like he seemed to have had with his sudden appearance. She seemed to be deep in thought. Maybe she wanted to keep it that way, but not talking to her now was like going without air. He didn't _want _to give it up. "If you don't mind too terribly, that is."

"Of course," she muttered back distractedly. After all, what could he possibly want to know that she didn't want to divulge? He'd been the perfect gentleman up until now, so she couldn't possibly anticipate anything other than the expected. Besides, she was still too occupied with the question of what she ought to be doing with Draco Malfoy. "What would you like to know?"

"Why are you always alone?" he asked her. She was startled. Of course he'd ask her something like that when she didn't have her defences up, _of course. _She couldn't say anything for several moments and he didn't seem to like the silence. "It's obviously self imposed. I know you enjoy seeing your two friends on Friday's, and that seems to hold some kind of ritualistic meaning for you."

"But?" she weakly prompted.

"But you're always alone," he said, repeating himself and making her cringe. Of course it would come to this uncomfortable topic. It was inevitable. "Why? Your company is coveted. After all, you are _Hermione Granger." _

The way he said her name made her blush, sent tingles down her spine, and made her clutch at the pillow she'd placed in front of her earlier. It was a welcome distraction from the conversation they were no doubt about to have. This was the moment of truth, anyhow, and she _ought _to feel uncomfortable with it. She could decide to trust him, divulge personal information that he could potentially hold over her. Or, she could take the safe route like she'd always done and tell him to fuck off.

It was a hard decision. On the one hand, if she ever did sleep with him, he'd be gone forever. There was no future here and she didn't want there to be one. He was still Malfoy and she would always be Granger. He might have changed, but she hadn't all that much. On the other hand, trusting people with herself had always been her weakness. But he'd done it. He'd done it without blinking an eye. It would be insanely rude not to divulge anything to him now.

"You don't have to answer the question," he said quietly, in that calm, collected voice of his. That insanely attractive tone. The same Malfoy he'd been since she'd met him again, before she'd known he was stalking her. "It's not necessary by any means-"

And that made up her mind for her.

"It's always easier," she said, repeating his words to him, "to forget and do what you know you're good at." And that had never been more truthful for her than it was now.

He chuckled, though, clearly appreciating her good memory. "You're good at isolating yourself, then."

"Always have been!" she said, her voice chipper. Of course she'd sound chipper, she'd spent her entire life perfecting that tone for when people asked such questions. It might not have been fair to him to subject him to the same treatment she gave to the masses, but it was her last defence. "I prefer it this way, you know, being alone."

"But that's not entirely true," he said, and she almost had the urge to bang her head against the door until he went away. It would be better than admitting he was right. "You just don't want to be misunderstood, I think."

"You think," she sarcastically muttered back. But he didn't seem to take offence. She imagined him smiling in that insufferably attractive way of his, leaning back against her front door. He had to have been, his voice was so goddamn clear. "What does it matter to you, anyway?"

There was no need to be hostile, she knew.

"Everything about you matters to me," he said in the same tone, like it was obvious, like it was absolutely no big deal. Just the truth to be considered.

_There was every need to be hostile! _

But she wasn't hostile, no. She ignored the feelings building up in her chest, ignored the fact that she was obviously blushing, ignored her shaking hands, and paid no mind to the fact that if she pressed close enough to the door, she could clearly hear Draco's quiet breathing. And that was important for her, for some reason, to be able to hear him breathe. It was something intimate.

"Why are _you_ always alone, then?" she asked him, suddenly defensive. She couldn't let him have the upper hand. That would mean that he had a hold over her, and fuck it if she was ever going to let _that _happen. "I don't think you've ever had an intimate relationship, have you?"

She could almost imagine him shrugging, like she knew he had the tendency to do.

"Not since my mother passed away, no," he said. Even though his voice betrayed no hint of sadness or discomfort, she felt an extreme sense of guilt pass through her. How could she be so insensitive? She began to berate her idiotic self silently. If only he knew how much she cared about such things. "And after that it seemed like a waste to care. If people are just going to end up _leaving _you, what's the point? Being shallow _does _have its advantages, though."

And she knew exactly what he meant. Because him being shallow was exactly the same reason she'd clung to Ron all those years. It wasn't what either of them had truly needed, but it was enough to not feel, it was enough to survive. They were both forms of isolation. He hadn't ever allowed anyone to see he had a personality because he was afraid of rejection. She didn't like to make friends or really involve herself in social situations because no one understood her, ridiculed her tendencies to be different.

"It never will make a difference until you let it go," she realized. He made some sort of noise in the back of his throat that she couldn't distinguish. "Have you yet?"

"No," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Have you?"

"No."

"It was never an option. I always thought I'd just die alone," he whispered so quietly that she thought she might have just imagined it.

"I always thought I'd die misunderstood," she whispered back."Is that insane?"

"No," he offered slowly. "No, it's just easier not to feel."

And that was that. Neither of them felt the need to say anything else for the rest of the night. By the time morning came, Draco was gone just like Hermione had expected him to be. But this time, she didn't feel that emptiness because she was certain he was coming back.

/

She knew she ought not to be surprised, really. It would have happened even if she hadn't wanted it to, it had really only been a matter of time. And she supposed right now was that time. But it was highly inappropriate, highly unnecessary, and an affront to her sensibilities. After all, what was the point of having the few friends that she had if they were going to be all...

Well, what she was trying to say was that Harry James Potter was fucking annoying.

Ginny had warned her during their last lunch that this was going to happen, but she hadn't really paid Ginny enough attention because she'd been scarfing down her coffee and sandwich in order to get back to work on time. Really, now that people were starting to be even just a little bit more productive, there was so much more nonsense to get done.

But now she wished she'd paid more attention, because Harry had planted himself firmly in her visitor chair and was apparently refusing to leave. Of course it didn't matter to him that she had mountains of work to get through before going home to cook a fabulous dinner. Of course it didn't matter to him that she had no interest in talking about what he was clearly here to discuss.

So she might as well get it over with, right?

Wrong. There was no way she was going to indulge Harry and his insanity. He'd probably come fully prepared and there was no way she was going to take that bullet. No way in fucking hell. Harry was going to accuse her of a whole host of things, she was sure of at least that much. After all, he had always been Ron's friend first and hers second.

This was about his wand that she'd snapped when they'd been on the run from Godric's Hollow, wasn't it? Well, fuck him. She'd replaced it. He needn't be so cruel!

"Can you sit _still, _Hermione?" Harry said with a sly smirk. Of course he'd be smirking at her nervousness. _Of course. _"I'm not going to bite your head off, you know."

"Right!" she nearly shrieked, causing him to raise a brow. Why was she so stressed out, anyway? It wasn't all that big of a deal. He wasn't going to be a complete jackarse, at least, that much she knew. They did, after all, have some kind of a friendly relationship. "Let's get this over with, then."

"Well. I'm going to ask you the question everyone's just been dying to know, then," Harry began. Hermione almost cringed, but he didn't spare her, just ploughed on. "You and _Malfoy? _Of all people? What's wrong with Ron?"

And there it was. It was obvious he was going to be a complete jackarse about it now. There was nothing she could do about it. She'd just hoped that, you know, that the whole _I've been your friend for over 17 years, you might want to cut me some slack _excuse would've worked.

CLEARLY NOT.

So instead, she sighed. It was true that this conversation was long overdue, something she should have discussed with her long time friend ages ago. But then again, Harry hadn't truly been part of her life for a very long time. What gave him the right to march down here and demand her to spill the personal details of her life? He hadn't cared about anything she'd done when she'd been with Ron – his best friend coincidently – and now that she wasn't with the Weasley, all of her actions were crazy and subject to question?

The double standard disgusted her. When he and Ginny had broken up, she'd been insanely understanding. When he'd dated that strange American girl on a bender just to get over the difficulties in his life, she'd been there for him. She'd helped mediate all the Weasley's and old Order members from berating him. She'd supported every endeavour he'd ever taken a part in, no matter _what _it had been. And he had the gall to sit there in front of her and interrogate her for the rest of the psychotic Weasley can? The nerve!

What would Draco advise her to do in such a situation? He was always rational, always calm. He never seemed to get angry for any reason, no matter what it was. In fact, if she really thought about it, his advice was always wise.

_You need not put up with the nonsense, you know. There are always options you can choose. _

"Have you fallen asleep on me? Hermione? _Her-mio-neeeee_," Harry was droning, waving a hand in front of her face to snap her out of her reverie.

"Yes?" she said, her face scrunched up in irritation. _Draco _would never do something so childish, at least. No, Draco would've let her think as long as she needed to answer such a complex question.

"Are you going to answer my question, then?" he asked, the same infuriating smirk plastered on his face. What was his bloody problem, anyway?

"No."

He just looked at her blankly, as if he wasn't able to comprehend the fact that she had just flat out rejected him information. Insanity, wasn't it? She had spent her life informing Harry Potter of facts, opinions, information, had never denied him a single thing. And now that she was closing off that gate, he was stunned.

"We're worried about you, you know," he finally said when he'd managed to collect his thoughts. Obviously nothing stopped Harry freaking Potter when he was after something – she'd been privy to that kind of reckless devotion throughout the majority of her life. "All of us. Mr and Mrs. Weasley, Luna, Ron-"

"Don't be ridiculous," she interrupted with a flick of her hand and a shake of her head. "Ron's not worried about me, he's just jealous because I'm not chasing after him anymore."

"Yes, well..." And then she knew it was true. If Harry couldn't even stick up for his best friend, she didn't need to say anything further. He'd said it all. "He really misses you, Hermione."

She snorted. Of course he missed her. She'd done everything for him! Had pushed him to succeed in all his goals in life – no matter how trivial they'd been. She'd cooked, cleaned, and listened to all the trivial aspects of his life, like a wife would. The only thing was, they weren't married. He hadn't had the guts to be tied down to her. She knew that now. She'd been the last to know.

"We _all _miss you, you know," Harry was saying. But she found that she didn't care all that much anymore. "You're always working, never really see anyone besides Ginny and Padma. And I hear you're only going to Flourish and Blotts every weekend. What kind of life is that, hiding yourself away, and with _Malfoy? _You need to get out of your apartment and see your friends."

The irony of the situation made her laugh, even if it was an empty one.

"But Harry," she said with a very sad smile on her face, "that's been my life for the past ten years, or didn't you know? The only difference is, Ron's been replaced by Draco, and you're only noticing now?"

Harry didn't have anything else to say, he didn't need to. She'd seen the guilt in his eyes before he'd left. But he hadn't apologized, either, so she saw no need to floo him later.

/

Another week passed, this time rather uneventfully for the pair.

Harry had stopped badgering Hermione with his visits and constant owls, stopped asking her what the hell was wrong with her. He was clearly adequately ashamed with himself and that suited Hermione just fine. It also seemed that Ginny and Padma had already moved on to bigger, better, more important topics. It wasn't that they didn't care about her and her predicament, of course they did! It was just that there were other things going on in their lives.

Like the fact that Ginny's team captain wanted her to sit on the bench for the rest of the season – even though she was an _amazing _chaser – because he'd finally caught a clue and realized that she swung for the other team. Not _literally, _of course, but literally enough for him to be a prejudiced arsehole. And Padma, being as industrious a person as ever, was still swamped in work. There was bound to be scandalous news there, but she never went into detail about any of it.

Hermione didn't resent her for it, it was just commonly understood that that's the way it was meant to be.

For Draco, life moved on in the fast pace that he had now become accustomed to. Yes, it was still a mystery that he was breathing and still managed to walk in a straight line if pressed, and yes he was still yearning for someone it seemed he'd never have the way he wanted, but things seemed to be getting better for him.

For one thing, the more Hermione began to accept his presence in her life, the longer he could be away from her without experiencing the negative effects of the veela blood. He didn't know if that was a sign that the curse that the stupid beautiful bitch and put on him was wearing off or getting stronger, but he didn't care either way. Both suited him just fine.

For another, he was finally progressing at work.

That didn't come as a surprise to him. After all, they were finally working in an area that he was an expert in. He _had _committed himself to the finer pleasures in life for most of his existence. It was no surprise he would be the one to know everything there was to know about throwing a good party. He finally felt like he was excelling – even if it was for nefarious purposes (He still hoped to get into Hermione's pants by the end of it all).

But really, it didn't matter if he managed his true goal or not. He learned it was the journey involved that mattered, really. The way Blaise silently praised him when something seemed to plan out according to his standard expectations. The way Mr. Snarky, his PR head, would compliment him like he complimented no one else. The way the now suddenly bold teenager would smile at him like he was suddenly _competent. _

It was all worth it doing, even if it all didn't end up getting him with Hermione like he wanted. He'd have done it anyway – at least he _hoped_he'd have. One never knew with such things.

Therefore, it was with high spirits that both Draco and Hermione found themselves in deep conversation on that Friday night. It was raining outside, but neither of them noticed the gentle patter of water droplets against the building. It was a nice backdrop, if anything, a soft soundtrack to their already soft conversation.

Hermione was in the process of regaling him with the tale of Potter's idiotic attempts to dissuade her from seeing him. Not that she was actually _seeing him _seeing him (which he'd do anything to have at this point, really) the idea was laughable.

"Potter's an idiot," Draco offered back with a sigh. Of course Potter was an idiot. He'd been telling _everyone _this for years, but no one had taken him seriously. Boy wonder, an idiot? Who would've known! He'd known. For sure. Only an idiot would refuse his friendship. "I could've warned you, but you hardly take me seriously."

"Don't be rude!" she admonished, but he could hear her chuckle nonetheless. This made him grin to himself. "Besides, I hardly think this is over."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean..." Perhaps she shrugged or perhaps she rolled her eyes in a way that only Hermione could. He didn't know, but imagined both scenarios in his head with practiced efficiency. "Well, he's certainly not just going to give up just because I told him off, for one."

"And for another?" he prompted.

"Friends don't give up on each other," she said simply.

And that really was something to say, he supposed. Of course she'd think that friends didn't do such things because she'd never done such a thing herself. He could see it now. She'd do anything for the ginger hair freak and the idiot boy wonder – of course she would. She was the pure, noble, and entirely too moralistic girl he'd become enraptured with. That was just in her _character. _

But the real question wasn't what _she'd _be doing. It was whether other people would follow in her example. To do something selfless wasn't in human nature, Draco knew that much. Everything came with a calculated price. Perhaps where she came from, she could afford to be all caring and kind for all kinds of people. Where he came from, to care about someone selflessly was stupidity.

For example, he adored Blaise. The man was practically his best friend, of _course _he adored him! But the fact remained that he certainly took advantage of Blaise and Blaise sure as hell took advantage of him. Draco had no doubt that Blaise would've been long gone if he hadn't needed Draco to cooperate with him to excel at work. But that had been fine.

It was just the way the world worked.

That was the way he explained it to her, at least, and she seemed to be genuinely listening. That was the thing with Granger – she actually _listened. _And you sure as hell better have an explanation for your words, or she wouldn't hesitate ripping apart any argument with her overly analytical mind in a second. She was essentially ruthless, is what he was trying to say.

"Maybe you just haven't made a solid relationship with anyone as of yet," she gently told him, as if she pitied him. "People don't _always_ do nice things for each other to gain something..."

"Is that why you're always alone?" he countered. "Because people _don't _take advantage of you?"

He realized it was entirely unfair to be using the information she'd given him in confidence against her. But he had a point to make, didn't he? She couldn't be overly optimistic about everything and everyone around her all the fucking time. It just wasn't feasible. One day, someone would come and stomp all over her, and Draco wasn't all that keen on saying _I told you so. _

"That's _besides _the point!" she counted anyway, even though they both knew he was absolutely right.

"I get you, Granger, you know that right?" he told her, pushing on even though he knew she'd eventually interrupt him. "I know you want to believe in the good of everyone and all that. And I completely respect it too. Most of us are too jaded to go down that route."

There was an awkward pause in which she seemed to consider his words. "Thank you? I suppose...Yes, thank you," she muttered, clearly put off.

"Point is, everyone wants to take advantage. Especially of you, you being all perfect and stuff." He knew it'd only take her a second to interrupt with her: _I'm hardly perfect _rant, and he knew he was certainly running out of time. "But that's okay, you know? You don't have to hide because of it, because I _get it, _and it's alright."

She didn't know what his point was or why he was bothering to say something so...intimate...to her, anyway. But somehow, the words hit her deeply. He _got _her – she wasn't misunderstood, at least not anymore. He understood her complicated needs and her overly simplistic view of the world. And amazingly, that was enough, wasn't it? What else did anyone need?

But more than that, he was still there, right on the other side of the door. He hadn't shunned her because she'd shared her opinion, or more accurately forced it down his throat in that habit she'd developed over the years. Yeah, she knew best, but sometimes he knew better. But it was okay, because he got it.

He got it when no one else ever had.

"You know what, Malfoy?" she said, surprised at the tingles passing through her entire body. "You're right. It _is _alright – or it's going to be, at least."

He didn't even feel the need to let her know that he was grinning. This, at least, was an immense breakthrough for him – for the both of them.

And somehow, he knew she hadn't lied to him. It _was _going to be alright.

**A/N: This week a put a few extra spoilers on twitter for those that follow me. I'm going to continue with this! (Unless people really hate it, then I won't) - Follow me on twitter if you want these extra spoilers (At sign murtagh799). Here's your usual weekly one:**

"_**Well, owl me when you're not so..." Her eyes roamed his body to come up with an adequate description. "Out of it." **_

_**With the way things were going these days, maybe just maybe he'd consider it.**_

**Unsigned Reviews: **

**Anonymous Reviewer with no name: **Thank you! I'm glad you think so! I'm immensely sorry for the late update... I do hope you continue reading regardless!

**Strawberries and Cream: **Thank you, lovely!

**Alexybath: **Thank you! You fit the challenge and your comment was entirely too sweet. Glad you reviewed!

**Buttercup: **I feel like women in general just can't HELP but to compare, you know? It's almost accidental in a sense. Anyhow, I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you'll enjoy this one. Sorry it came out so late!

**Rose Schultz: **I hope you are truly well and caught up with your school work and that all has gone well in other departments! Take your time, can't wait to see the finished product! :)

**C: **Thank you! I'm glad you thought so. Just imagine how surprised she'll feel if she ever does find out how much he suffered for her ;) Sorry for the horrendously long wait and thank you very much for your kind review. Have a fantastic week!


	9. Where is my mind?

A/N: I'M BACK! Not all of you are going to like this chapter. And for that I am truly sorry, but it had to be done. Ah well!

No excuses, I know, so I won't make any. I will keep my personal details out of this and let you all on towards the chapter ASAP because I know how long I've kept you all waiting. BUT, first, thank you to everyone who favourited and alerted since I've been gone.

Special thank you to all my reviewers: Venetiangrl92, AliBelly, .com, loveroffelton, hottopicgirl, StrawberryPeaches, Inkith, Amelia Raihan, glitterboden, Shakespearestwinsister, HarryPGinnyW4eva, Twinzlover, Jadepowell, Talis Ruadair, Strawberries and Cream, Jade Ice Fire, reader204, Little Girlie Wolf, buttercup, IaTeYoUrMuFfinx, ShaiYikes, pamelawright, and Vaneesa85.

_**Song Selection for this Chapter: Where is my Mind by The Pixies**_

**Chapter Nine: Where is my Mind?**

_He knew it was a dream from the moment he saw her retreating figure disappearing somewhere into the shadows, somewhere out of his reach. And naturally, even though he knew none of this could possibly be real, he still followed her like a lost little puppy. Perhaps that's all he was good for these days – following her around like an abandoned creature only there to fulfill her cruel desires. _

_It had to be done, though, __someone__ had to do it. And it wasn't like he had anything better to do. At least, that is what he told himself. _

_She was moving faster than he could manage, perhaps because she didn't want to be followed or because she didn't know he was there. Either could be true, one never knew with her. Soon, he was running just to keep her in sight, just to keep her long brown frizzy hair within his vision. Her hair only got longer, as did her legs. Her strides became longer than ten of his fast taken steps. She became a giant, even in the distance, and his feet became heavier. He tried though, tried to follow until he couldn't bear to anymore. _

_She was gone, anyway. _

_He sank to his knees, only to find that the ground he had been walking on all this time wasn't earth at all, but water. That genuinely surprised him. How had he walked on __water__? How had she? But he didn't have the time to contemplate the strange occurrence because he was slowly sinking. Apparently, one could stand, walk, and run on the water but one could not kneel. _

_He had half a mind to stand up. After all, he did have to go find her and who knew how far she had gotten now? But he was tired and he knew the water was cool. It would calm his aching muscles and energize him. Hell, perhaps it would even make him grow as tall as it had made her grow. Was that her secret, then? Had she drank the blissful water? All he knew was that if he was that size, __surely__ he could manage to catch up with her. Then, it would be easy. _

_He stared down at the water, only to find his reflection smiling back at him. This was rather strange, however, because Draco could not feel himself smiling. He touched his cheek to make sure and that only made his reflection laugh. It was disconcerting. Reflections could talk and tease him some __other__ day. Today he had things to do, giants to catch and such. Couldn't his reflection just behave for once? _

_He made to swipe at the surface of the water. That would show his reflection! It couldn't exist properly on a rippling surface, now could it? That would teach it to be cheeky to him. No one was ever cheeky to Draco Malfoy. _

_But before he could do anything, the reflection grinned at him and swam away. It even had the audacity to wave back at him and Draco could only scowl. First, his reflection had outsmarted him and second it'd run away! Or swam away, he supposed. Now his reflection would reach her before he had even figured out what to do. It was all really just hopeless, he realized. _

_Then, Draco considered swimming. From what he could make out from his now fast disappearing reflection, he could swim fast in these waters. If his reflection could make long powerful strides in such an effortless fashion, surely he could too. It couldn't be __that__ hard. Only, he was too exhausted from running earlier and his legs were numb. It wouldn't do any good to exhaust himself before he'd even found her. What would she think of him? He couldn't even keep up with her. Surely she would think him pathetic. He somehow knew she would. _

_It didn't matter though. She was long gone. _

_He decided to drink the water, then. Even if it didn't make him grow taller, it would surely quench his thirst. And then he realized he actually __was__ thirsty, parched in fact! So thirsty that his throat was aching. This too surprised him. Why hadn't he noticed it before, hm? It didn't matter. No, it didn't matter at all anymore. _

_He scooped up a handful of the clear water surrounding him into his cupped hands and brought it to his mouth, only to find that it wasn't water at all. It was black, slimy tar. _

_In fact, when he looked around him, he wasn't even in a pool of water, but in a wasteland of tar and ash. Something was burning in the distance because there was smoke all around him. In his mouth, eyes, and ears, irritating his skin. When he looked down, he realized he was waist deep in a pool of the thick tar. How this had happened was far beyond him. _

_But it didn't matter, because he was stuck. _

_He began to struggle, attempt to pull his body up out of the disgusting tar. But he couldn't hoist himself out of the wretched liquid because there was nothing solid to gain purchase on. He attempted to swim – because really, he'd rather be covered in the stuff temporarily than drown in it forever – but his legs seemed to be cemented in it. Was that even possible? Or perhaps the stuff was too thick to move in. _

_Either way, whether he moved sideways or upwards, backwards or forwards, all it seemed to do was sink him in further to his doom. Somehow he didn't seem to feel the panic that should've been there, but then agai,n by that time the acrid smoke had also made him hopelessly dizzy. All he could do was uselessly flail and sink further in inch by inch. _

"_I'd really stop all of that if I were you," came a voice from directly ahead. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness brought on by the thick smoke. Eventually, he found the perfect image of Blaise sitting cross legged in the very pool of tar he was currently drowning in. "It's clearly not working." _

_Well, the bastard was as condescending as ever, at least, and absolute perfection where Draco was obviously failing. Blaise was somehow __not__ drowning, even though Draco was. Blaise didn't even have a speck of tar on his perfectly pressed grey robes. For some reason, that irritated Draco to no end. Why did he have to come here and make things more difficult than they already were? _

"_Stop struggling, you fool," Blaise suddenly hissed with venom in his voice that Draco had never heard before, not in all the years that they had been friends. "You'll only sink further. Would've figured that out if you'd paid a second of attention or had an ounce of intelligence." _

_But it didn't matter that Blaise's words would've cut him rather deep if he had been paying more attention. No, Draco __couldn't__ pay attention to the cruel words because Blaise was melting right before his eyes. Skin, bones, all the elegant features were bubbling away to nothingness. It was a truly disgusting sight to behold, watching his friend just disintegrate before his eyes while still screaming out cruel things. _

_All it took was a blink of his eyes and Draco was faced with an image far more disturbing than the melting pile of goo that had been Blaise. Instead, he saw Lucius Malfoy before him, leering at him. Draco had the good sense not to cringe. What would his father do to him if he had cringed? _

"_You are worthless, Draco," his father told him in that eerie, cool, measured tone. "Can't even manage not to drown!" Draco looked down to find that he had indeed sunk far too deep into the tar, all the way to his shoulders. "You are a disgrace to the Malfoy name-"_

_But Draco had long since stopped tolerating such nonsense. "__I'm__ a disgrace? If anything, __you're__ a disgrace to the family! Or did you forget that you allowed the Dark Lord to live in our home? Or that __you__ allowed mother to die? Forget all that, did you?" _

"_Don't be silly, Draco," came another voice, a decidedly pleasant voice. "We all know it was your fault your mother died." _

_He looked up to find Hermione staring back at him with that calculating gaze of hers. She was no longer a giant and no longer escaping into the distance. No, she was sitting there next to his father like they were old pals, staring at him like he wasn't worth the dirt under his shoes. It took him a moment to realize what she had said about him. It shocked him to the core. _

"_I didn't-"_

"_But you did, Draco," came another voice. He tried turning his head toward the voice as best as he could because the tar had come all the way up to his chin by that point. It had been Blaise that had been talking. Blaise was still a disgusting melting mess, though, and that only served to terrify Draco further. "We all know it was all your fault your poor mother died. Very sad." _

"_But I didn't!" Draco tried arguing. _

"_You did, Draco," Hermione taunted, linking her arm with Lucius. That more than anything enraged Draco, but he couldn't say anything because the tar had covered his mouth by that point. He couldn't help but struggle, even though he knew it was absolutely useless. "It was __all__ your fault. Your poor, poor mother. I can't even imagine..." _

_He tried shaking his head, he really did, but all that accomplished was having him sink further in. His nose was now covered in the tar and he was finally beginning to panic. He was going to die here and they were going to watch it happen, quite gleefully apparently. When Hermione slunk herself around his father, he struggled in earnest to stop it from happening, but they just laughed at him. Suddenly, he was pushed further into the tar by a hand on his head. _

_Blaise had come to extract his revenge. _

_The deformed figure of what was left of his friend waved nicely at him before pushing his head all the way into the black tar. It took Draco a moment to realize that Blaise was sending him to his death and there was nothing he could do about it. Blaise was going to drown Draco with his own hands._

_And then, Draco was sinking. Struggling and sinking, sinking and struggling. His limbs became heavier and eventually he had to open his mouth to breathe. Tar invaded his mouth and poured down his throat as he tried to suck in air from a source that didn't exist. His eyes ached and the tar that had seeped into his nose burned. If he could cough, he would've hacked up a lung. But as it was, both of his lungs were slowly filling with death. _

_He was getting dizzy, dizzier by the second. He knew this was the end now and was almost sorry to go. Sure, he had hated his life and himself on many occasions, but he had never been suicidal. Not even during his darkest moments had Draco ever been suicidal. His vision turned black and he was gone. _

_He was sure he was gone. _

_Until there was light above him. _

_Then a cough. It was more of a ray of light than anything else, pure, white, unfiltered bliss. Another wretched cough. It took Draco a moment to realize that he was the one emitting such a disgusting hacking noise. It could only mean that he wasn't dead somehow. When he stared above him into the light he realized he was at the bottom of some kind of hole. At the opening were the faces of his tormentors staring down at him and his wretched form. _

_He was still coughing and hacking up tar from his lungs. Where had all the tar gone? He was covered in it, so surely he hadn't imagined it all. How had he gotten at the bottom of his pit? Where the hell was all the smoke? Staring up, he realized Hermione was still wrapped around his father and they were leaving. She was really going to leave him here. Blaise was still waiving cheerily at him, still a melted bubbling mess. And then Blaise, too, was leaving. _

_Alone__. _

_Draco didn't even realize when he'd begun to emit the hoarse screams that were ripped from his throat. Screams for them to come back, to at least get him out of here before they tormented him. He screamed but no one came, not Blaise, not Hermione, not even his father. Even when he realized no one was going to come, he continued screaming because screaming was better than nothing. Dying was better than this. _

_Still alone. _

_Suddenly, he wished he'd drowned in that tar while he'd had the chance. But wishing was futile, it really got you nowhere. Eventually, he'd ripped his throat so raw with his screams that he began spitting up blood. But even then, he continued screaming. When he eventually lost his voice, he began to mutely shout as loud as he could manage anyway. But eventually, that had to stop as well. _

_Then all he could do was cry. Sob for being put through this, left like this. But unfortunately, the tears had to dry up sometime. _

_Eventually, his body had to dry up too, until he was only a cracking pile of bones... _

/

When Draco finally jolted awake, he realized several things.

First, he was tangled in the blanket he had conjured for himself and he was drenched in cold sweat. Second, his hands were bleeding from where he had dug his nails in too far, as was his tongue where he had obviously bitten into it. His entire body was sore and he could immediately tell that he had been thrashing around on the stone floor. There were probably a multitude of bruises on his back, his head, his legs...

His throat was sore, so it was obvious that he had been screaming.

When he lifted himself up into a sitting position with a loud groan, he found a bucket and a rag with cold water next to him. When he heard a little shuffle at the end of the hall and a door shut close, he realized it hadn't been Hermione who had left him the water. Hell, he hadn't even known anyone else lived on this floor.

When he reached for the water, wincing all the way, he found a white piece of paper tucked partially under the bucket. Curious, he pulled it out, squinting to make out the letters that just didn't seem to want to _focus. _Finally, he managed to make out a neat scrawl in the sparse moonlight filtering through the hallway windows.

_Silenced the floor for you. Your girlfriend seemed particularly frightened.  
>Best Wishes,<br>Meredith Cromwell.  
>P.S: I do expect my cloth cleaned and my pail emptied.<em>

Draco couldn't help but chuckle at that, but that was clearly a mistake because his throat ached probably more than his entire body combined. He must really have been _screaming _for it to have such an effect.

All of a sudden, a sort of melancholy swept through him. He had screamed in his sleep, quite violently as the evidence suggested, and Hermione hadn't even come out to wake him up. Hell, she hadn't done anything at all, probably. The woman – Meredith? – had said Hermione had been particularly frightened and Draco knew that meant that she had been paralyzed, too afraid to do anything but sit there and listen. Maybe she had shouted at him to stop. Maybe she had silenced her door.

Maybe she had ignored him and went back to bed.

Hell, a bloody _stranger _had helped him more than she had! Didn't he deserve more than that? After all, he did sit here day after day, listening to her ramble about little insignificant fucking details about her insignificant fucking life that really didn't matter. Did she just not care about him? He didn't matter one whit to her.

She obviously didn't need him, then, and it was really just a waste of time, wasn't it? He was a burden to her – she had things to do, other friends that could probably listen to her whine about nonsense. Who was he really, but a little bratty kid that wanted her attention? It didn't matter that he was suffering or that it would've been the polite thing to do to come out and help him.

She hadn't and that said droves.

In the end, it was just a stupid fucking dream that had to demonstrate how foolish he was behaving. What had he expected, anyhow? He was a Malfoy. She was Hermione Granger, war hero and what not. It didn't matter that she was a pathetic excuse for a human being. It just mattered that he had actually thought she would have helped him.

She hadn't. Hadn't even opened the door, probably.

He really _was _alone, then.

Healing himself the best he could after washing up, he made his way over to the door that he had seen closing earlier. Muttering a quick _scourigify, _he placed the rag in the now empty water bucket. Conjuring a quill and a pot of ink, he jotted down a quick thank you to whoever this Meredith person was. Yeah, he had been raised with manners after all. It wouldn't do to be rude to someone that had shown him kindness. His mother had raised him better than that.

He wasn't like _she _was. He would've come to help her if he had been on the other side of that door. He wasn't that cruel. No, he definitely wasn't.

Then, for the first time in a long time, he left Hermione Granger alone. It didn't matter anyway, because she didn't give a fuck about him. He only had a vague idea where he was going, but somehow he knew wherever it was, he'd find his mind there.

/

A stretch, a yawn, and protesting limbs were all Draco could register as he regained consciousness. Beyond that, he was vaguely aware of soft bodies around him. Soft bodies? Body? A woman, perchance? He didn't really know and couldn't really rouse himself enough to care. The person - or _persons_ - around him had taken notice of his slow movements and immediately there were hands in his hair, on his face, soothing his aching head.

He didn't know where he was and didn't really _want _to know either. Knowing would mean acknowledging the fact that he had fallen asleep with others around him and those "others" probably didn't include Hermione Granger.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he cringed.

He knew what had happened, knew that he was as good as discarded, but he didn't want to wake up to acknowledge it. Instead, he sunk further into his already lost mind and into the soft arms of what was unmistakeably a woman. This was undoubtedly a respite from the cold, hard floors he had gotten used to sleeping on. In fact, he was positively warm for once. And the creature – because all women _were _creatures – was stroking soothing patterns onto his neck.

"Master Draco," she cooed into his ear, her voice resembling something that reminded him of a bird. "Master Draco. You have an owl."

Her voice was breathy now that he came to think of it. It was tantalizing, sexy, and smooth. Nothing like Hermione's timid tone. Did he like it or did he hate it? Was his body capable of liking anything other than the demon that had destroyed him? He managed to crack open an eyelid long enough to know that that was a horrid idea. Fucking lights. Why did the sun have to rise every morning? How miserable did the world _really _want to make him? It wouldn't be too much to ask for a few clouds now and then, would it?

"Burn it," he groaned, before turning away and burying his face against a blanket. It was made of fur. At least, some kind of fur.

A blanket. That must mean he was in a bed. It was certainly soft enough to be considered as one. Or a couch? Regardless, it was better than being stuck outside the flat of some cold hearted bitch. He didn't need her. He really didn't need her. Of course he didn't need her. That was all he needed to tell himself. It was his mantra. It _had _to be his mantra.

And as the fingers resumed stroking his hair in a comforting fashion, he realized he had the ability to effectively lie to himself. It _was _reality, in his head at least. He really didn't need her. That was why it was definitely more than alright when his mystery woman pressed her lips right against his. It was sweet, not something he was quite used to, to be frank, but he didn't care enough to protest just then.

After all, every experience was a valuable one, wasn't it? Before "you know what" had happened, he would've welcomed this with open arms, he was sure of it. Sure, he didn't really know where he was just yet and had no idea who this woman was, but who was he to refuse if someone wanted to take care of him? If that's what she was doing, anyway. Regardless, it was nice. Comforting.

More than he'd ever gotten from _Granger, _the she-devil, that was for sure.

So, he kissed her back. It wasn't like it was a crime or anything, no matter what his body told him. She had soft lips and soft hands, even softer skin. He couldn't say no to someone so willing. She was practically rubbing against him, she wanted it so bad. Why couldn't he just be normal again and give it to her? Why couldn't he just fucking _give _in? It wasn't so hard, really, all he had to do was concentrate.

All he had to do was -

"Get off," he growled.

He could feel her still – it wouldn't been hard _not _to feel her tense up right there against him, she was rather close after all, pressed up against him like that. It was obvious that she hadn't been expecting him to say anything at all, let alone reject her. But he had had to. The second he'd made up his mind about burying himself into her, a sharp stab of pain had travelled right up his spine and resonated through his every limb. It had blinded him. He was still rather blind, he realized, and not even in the proper way.

Fucking Granger. It was always about the bloody bitch.

The girl eventually understood that he actually wasn't joking and got up off the bed. "Get rid of the lights," was all he could mutter when he was sure that she'd left him. He could hear her drawing the curtains shut and almost breathed a sigh of relief. But didn't. Obviously he didn't, Malfoys did not show such signs of weakness. At least not in public

When he opened his eyes, he found that he was in his usual room at the club. Well, it was usual when he was still doing such things. It had been weeks since he had come here and longer since he had actually enjoyed it. He hadn't remembered coming here, but he must have. He had to have some time the night before, right? After what had happened outside the witch's flat when he had –

But that wasn't something to think about. Instead, he turned his eyes towards the beautiful creature that was now standing timidly in front of the luxurious curtains. This place had always been luxurious to suit the tastes of its patrons. The man who ran it had good taste. Couldn't let business go on account of silly _furniture _after all. But if the furnishings were nice, then the women who frequented the place were a piece of heaven. He must have noticed it before and he probably had. But that must have been a memory from a dream.

She was blonde he noticed, now that he could probably see. So blonde that he wouldn't be surprised if it turned white in the sunlight. She had nice features, but maybe a little _too _defined. She looked almost like a china doll. Pale, blue eyed, long curly hair... The works. Once upon a time he might've salivated at the sight. She was barely dressed and that was meant to be appealing. She had long legs, smooth creamy thighs. What more did a man want from a woman but to look like that?

What more did a man want beyond Granger?

He shook his head of that thought. It wouldn't do to be thinking such things now. Now, especially now that he was here. He was meant to be broken from Granger's spell, not still be in it. Smooth and steady, that's all it would take, really. He could... _persevere_. He could be who he always was and never have to think about Granger ever again. He wasn't the kind of guy who could be dropped and fixed repeatedly. Yeah, he refused to be treated that way. At least, that's what he felt like.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" he asked her, then, almost too suddenly. But she was trained to accept odd behaviour, so she didn't blink. But he cringed inwardly, nonetheless. _Way to go. _Just the perfect way to be smooth. He gestured towards her, too jerkily – he _was _still tired after all – and she came. He wondered why she came. He could feel himself turning into a jittering mess. "How old are you?"

"_My _name is Caroline," she cooed, once she had settled back into the covers with him. "And I'm exactly twenty four years old and a day."

She seemed rather proud of the fact and he couldn't understand why. But now wasn't the time to think about stupidity, irrationality, or needs. No, none of that and more. Now was about ignoring it all, even if it meant ignoring it with a stupid little bint.

"Well, then," he sighed, leaning further back into the pillows he hadn't even realized were there. "Happy belated birthday, _Caroline." _

She giggled at the way he said her name. He tried not to sneer in response. Instead, he plastered a smile on his face. He didn't know if he looked absolutely hideous, or at least as hideous as he felt, but she seemed to enjoy it. In fact, there was even colour in her cheeks. That was odd. It was almost wrong. Colour on such a pale person? Was that even possible, or had she used a spell somehow when he'd blinked? Besides, colour was only appealing on _one _person as far as he was concerned.

She trailed her fingers over his jaw and for some reason, he let her. Soon, her lips followed and not too long after so did she, straddling him like she thought she was all appealing. And at some level, she must have been. Or perhaps it was the rubbing all up against him, grinding and all that. Maybe it was just that he was starved for physical action (he hadn't had any in _weeks! _Fucking Granger). Whatever it was, his body reacted. He hardened beneath her.

And fucking hell did it hurt.

He grit his teeth and shoved her off him. In fact, Draco was surprised he hadn't yelled out like a fucking sissy. Yeah, it hurt, but he ought to have just...endured it, or something. Anything to avoid the scandalously surprised look that was spreading over her perfect features. Really, she must have gotten some work done on her face to look like that. No one ever looked _that _perfect. It was impossible, or at least it ought to have been.

"Is something...wrong?" she asked, almost too quiet.

He shook his head no, which made her bite her lip.

"Am I not pleasing?"

He stared at her. Was she not pleasing? It was possible. She was blonde, and she really ought to have been a brunette. Her hair was too long, and not curly enough. Not _nearly _frizzy enough. She was too slight. Far too slight. She didn't have caramel eyes and rosy cheeks. She was too tall. Fucking hell, she was nothing like the image in his head, so of course she wasn't pleasing.

But he shook his head no anyway. It wouldn't do to go around offending the girls of the club. They all knew him and in the future he wanted to be accepted back here. Sometime when he wasn't so... under the weather.

"I'm not feeling too well," he said instead, even though he knew it was really her fault for not being Granger. Everything would've solved itself if she had just been _Granger. _"It's really not your fault, I just..."

"Oh, you poor dear," she filled in for him, making his life easier. At least she had done that much. She coaxed him back into a laying position so he could rest, smoothing his hair back. He supposed he must've started to look ill again, being away from Granger too long. It must have been believable or she must have been a very good actress, because she seemed rather concerned. "You rest, and I'll go get you something warm to eat, how's that?"

Well, if only Granger were like this.

"Yeah, yeah... that would be nice," he managed to mutter before dozing back off to sleep.

/

He could only really sleep for a good solid hour before another owl was madly tapping at his window. At first, it was only annoying, and he could deal with annoying. His patience had really expanded in the past few weeks, at least he could say that. But eventually, the pestering owl turned into madness. Whatever the fucking runt wanted must've been important because it didn't go away.

It turned out that his expertise _was _needed at work, because there wasn't just one owl pecking away at the now cracked window, but seven. Blaise, the PR fellow, and the ugly goblin had all sent several owls to come and fetch him. Well, at least someone thought he was important, even if it was just for silly things. For a second, that made him almost feel good. Kind of like he was appreciated, or something.

But only just for a second.

Draco had half a mind to skip it all – why go to work when he had already established that he wasn't going to get Granger? It had all been a sham for her, right? But eventually, he pulled his clothes on haphazardly and apparated his sorry arse to Malfoy Industries, where he found a very angry Blaise waiting for him.

"Where the fuck _were _you? You missed both the meetings _you _had me schedule!" So it was obvious that Blaise was angry. "Don't you dare just walk away and ignore me, you fucking wanker! Where the fuck were you?" Blaise really ought not to stress so much. Didn't the bastard know it was bad for his health?

"I was...sick," Draco muttered vaguely, heading in one of the side rooms they kept to house all the tea and coffee. Nothing other than tea and coffee though, which was just absolutely dismal if anyone bothered to ask him, which they didn't. No one really bothered to ask him much of anything these days, at least nothing important. "I'm allowed to be sick, aren't I?"

Blaise just rolled his eyes and muttered something incomprehensible. It didn't need to be comprehensible though because Draco was sure it was just a long list of profanities starting with _fucking imbecile _and ending with _murder. _For a moment, they both just stood there and it was like it was old times again. Blaise, glaring at him for something he hadn't done, and he just ignoring the murderous stare that was probably well deserved.

"You have the caterer waiting for you in the conference room and you have to go see to the entertainment by five. You got that?" he asked, as if dictating to a small child. "I have actual _work _to do now, so you better deal with this party planning. It was your idea."

"Yup," Draco stated, nonchalant as ever. Blaise really needed to calm down. He really did.

"By five, Draco," Blaise said over his shoulder before leaving him there. "Don't forget!"

But Draco wasn't really paying attention to all that. He was really just focusing on his breathing. In and out, in and out. Isn't that how it was supposed to go? It wasn't so difficult, really. All he had to do was concentrate and not let anything else concentrate for him. Things were simple once people _made _them simple. That's all he had to remember from now on. In theory, everything remained constant until you told them to move. In reality, everything was just moving and usually most things didn't stop even if you begged.

Like Granger.

It wasn't really difficult to understand that dilemma, now that he thought about it. She didn't want him. Who was he to force himself on her? She didn't deserve him and he definitely didn't deserve her. If only he didn't feel so _sick _about it, it would've been practically easy forgetting about her. He was just surprised it had taken him an entire nightmare to figure out what he was doing.

Where the fuck had his mind gone?

Eventually, he realized he couldn't stand there anymore. His thoughts were threatening to consume him and he really wasn't good with dealing with that kind of stuff, never had been and probably never would. What's more, his body was starting to really ache. He'd been too far away from Granger for far too long. He must've looked a mess. But he couldn't think about any of it anymore, couldn't stay there sipping coffee like nothing was wrong. So instead, he went to the conference room to do who knew what. Blaise had told him to do it, so it was probably a smart idea.

There were several carts of samples spread out around the conference room, which startled Draco until he remembered that yeah, he was meant to be meeting the caterer. This couldn't be too hard. After all, he had fantastic choice in food. Even the commoners would love his choice. This could be over and done with in fifteen minutes max and he could be in Blaise's office, sleeping off the headache he'd developed.

That was until he saw her leaning against the table like a sexy beast.

"What the fuck?" he exclaimed, which was entirely out of character for him. He usually didn't have outbursts in front of strangers. "What the hell are you doing here?"

She smiled, though she seemed startled to see him as well. It was the girl from the club, the red head with the mile high legs. His body must have remembered the fun times he'd shared in bed with this girl because his mouth automatically started salivating. And she did look delicious here as well with that shorter than appropriate skirt and open blouse. He wondered if she'd done it purposely for him.

"Don't you remember? I work with the catering company that handles all of your functions," she stated blankly – almost _blandly. _And then he remembered that she was boring until someone, or something made her scream. Preferably in pleasure.

He tried to remember if he'd seen her here before, at Malfoy industries that is, but so far he was drawing at a blank. He must have if she had supposedly helped cater all of their functions. They'd had many over the years, under Lucius Malfoy's reign. He'd been a party goer, but they'd neither been as fun or interesting as Draco would've liked.

That was why he'd always sneaked off with a redhead into the backrooms to –

Oh right. Redhead. She literally must have noticed the light go off in his head, because she smirked and stalked closer like he was the prey and she was the hunter. It was disconcerting. This was something else Draco didn't think he was used to. It made him narrow his eyes, which made her falter. But she didn't stop, didn't stop until she was right up against him and unbuttoning his wrinkled shirt.

She wasn't as tall as he was, but she was tall enough. If he wanted to, he probably could've pushed her away, seeing as she seemed rather frail. How had she taken such a rough pounding the last time? Had he even paid attention to such things, or had he just been too drunk to notice? It didn't matter. He stepped away and she seemed unconcerned.

"Have you missed me?" she purred to him. This, at least, he remembered was routine. Was she attempting to fuck him because this was routine, or just because she wanted him? He supposed it didn't matter either way.

What he did know was too occupied with thoughts of Hermione Granger to successfully shag the vixen before him. It just didn't seem right, wasting such an opportunity. But he knew how this ended. He knew he'd be in pain. But somehow, it just didn't seem like it mattered. So, he let her kiss him. He whimpered when the flash of pain passed through his body and nearly screamed when she palmed her hand at the front of his trousers.

"Alright, you need to stop," he muttered, his voice strained.

"You don't mean that," she whispered heatedly into his ear, nipping at the soft skin there. But instead of being incredibly sexy, it just made him want to pass out. "You remember how good it always is, don't you-"

"Not a good time right now. I'll get someone to send you what we want for the menu," he insisted, weakly, trying to push her away and wondering why he was even bothering. Didn't a person like him deserve this kind of pain? It was almost ironic. The devil had taken away the one thing he knew he could count on in life – Pleasure.

An awkward silence passed between them where she appraised him. Maybe he was playing hard to get, if that was something Draco Malfoy ever did. Eventually, she realized he was being completely serious and didn't know why. When in the world had Malfoy ever refused a willing, hot girl? Never, was the answer, so this would've been something of a first. This would've been especially serious.

"Well, owl me when you're not so..." Her eyes roamed his body to come up with an adequate description. "Out of it."

With the way things were going these days, maybe just maybe he'd consider it.

/

It had taken an entire day of working through a haze of pain before he had convinced himself that he really had to go back to Granger's goddamn apartment. He hadn't wanted to, he really hadn't. He had more pride than that, but apparently his body didn't understand the meaning of pride, the worthless thing that it was.

In the end, he had consoled himself with the thought that he wouldn't have to say anything. In fact, if he wanted to, he could be invisible again. Invisible to her, invisible to her life, and even invisible to himself. That wouldn't be too bad. At least he wouldn't have to put up with her and her nonsense. Not that it was all bad. It was just...

He'd had enough of the bullshit.

Enough of everything, really. He was just tired and wanted a restful sleep without having to feel the wracking pains in his body every time he did so. This much Granger _could _offer and this much he really was going to take advantage of. She couldn't say no to him sleeping here outside of his apartment, he'd been doing it for weeks now so she had no right to deny him. But he disillusioned himself anyway, just in case she had any objections to it.

But he'd forgotten to silence his feet and she'd heard him coming from a mile away. Fucking shoes. Why hadn't he thought to take the damn things off? He ought to have _burned _the bloody things, they were that useless. He knew it wasn't really the shoes' fault, but he needed to be angry at something. He was too tired to be angrier with himself than he already was and it was out of the question to be angry with Granger.

"Draco?" she called out to him. He hated the way she said his name but loved it more than he ought to have. He could feel the relief spreading through him as every pain in his body receded. It was all gone until he was just a useless pile of invisible goo, melting right against the outside wall of Hermione Granger's flat. "Draco, is that you?"

He had half a mind not to answer her. He deserved some silence, after all. But he knew that if he kept silent that she would get scared. And who knew what she'd do if she was scared? Maybe she'd do nothing and that would be preferable, but she never did anything that was preferable in his opinion. She was annoying, bratty, fucking retarded and a whole host of other things. Never preferable.

No wonder she couldn't do any better than the Weasel.

"Yeah, it's me," he muttered grumpily.

He could hear her shuffle uncomfortably and wished to Merlin that she was suffering. In guilt or discomfort, whatever. He didn't are. He just wanted her to be in _anguish _just then. It was almost like they were back in school, where he hated her guts and all was right in the world. Sure, he was an ignorant swot then, but she was no better. Hell, she was no better _now. _

Just a stupid little girl that liked to make other people suffer.

"Did you... did you have a bad day at work?" she questioned timidly.

"Yeah," he scoffed. "Bad day at work."

Suddenly, he was far too tired to be properly cross with her. It required far too much effort. He knew he was angry at her for abandoning him and she wasn't exactly unintelligent. She knew he was angry at her and why. It wasn't like passing the NEWT's, she knew exactly what was wrong and he knew she didn't want to acknowledge it. So who was he to push her into it? He was only here to leech off a few hours of her company so that he could sleep.

"What happened?" she pressed on, obviously hoping to re-establish whatever feasible relationship they had. Not that they'd had much to begin with, she'd made sure of that much at the very least. And thank god, who the fuck would ever want to have a relationship with her? "Do you want to talk about it?"

It dawned on him for a moment that she was talking to him like he mattered.

"Sure, sweetheart, if you _insist," _he whispered so sweetly that he was sure even his own ears had melted off. "My best friend isn't very relenting, you know. He can be a slave driver when he wants to be." He sighed for effect, so wistfully that he heard her shuffle again.

"I'm sure it's very...difficult," she offered.

"Oh, of course! I'm not used to all of this, none of it at _all. _But I'm glad you had made me have this experience. I'm thankful for it, learning a lot and making something of myself... what's the word..."

"Enjoyable?" she guessed.

"_Gratifying," _he insisted. He didn't have to be on the other side of the door to know that she was blushing. He'd played this game with other women before. He knew how they worked. Then it was obvious to him that she was just like every other woman out there. Nothing new, nothing special. He didn't need to waste all this time sitting here, not if he really didn't want to. "Electrifying."

"Is it? Really?" And she seemed genuinely interested.

He smirked. "It is. In fact, just today I finalized the guest list for that party we're going to be having." An absolute lie. They hadn't even come close to finalizing the guest list, but what Granger didn't know wouldn't bother her. "It's going to be so brilliant seeing all the hard work I've been putting in paying off. All because of you."

"Because of me?"

"Because of you," he insisted. "I wouldn't have done any of it without you, _Hermione." _

He whispered her name like a caress and he just _knew _she was shivering on the other side of the door, imagining whatever her naive little brain could come up with. Sometimes, it was better that two people couldn't touch, because one's imagination is always better than anything a human can replicate. It deceives one into believing that perfection might actually exist. Draco knew this. Hermione did not.

"I would... _really _appreciate it if you came, you know," Draco muttered, adding just the right amount of insecurity he knew girls just loved. How could someone knock over something so vulnerable? They just didn't. And Hermione, the girl who was the champion of all things poor and weak, she'd never just throw him over, not like that. "It's very daunting, stepping up into something as large as the company my father left me."

"I don't know..." she said, uncertain.

"Please? I don't think I could do it without you..." he said.

He made it sound like he was going to break apart. At some level in his mind, he was breaking apart playing games with Hermione Granger. Like she was almost like any other girl in his life. For the first time since he'd met her, he actually _wanted _her to reject him, just to prove that maybe just maybe she was something more than everyone else. He wanted her to prove to him that she was special, something worth suffering for. Because if she _wasn't _then that would just mean he was he failure, that _he _was undesirable.

"I'll think about it," she said finally, deciding his fate for him.

And Draco thought he might just cry.

**A/N: So, what do you think? I'm very excited to see what you all think about this! I'll try my best to get the next chapter up as soon as possible. Until then, here's a spoiler: **

_**As he pressed himself into her he realized, this was exactly what he was made for. He was at his best when he was this filthy. The pain ceased to matter because this was who he was. And Draco Malfoy never shied away from the truth. No, he embraced it with every pounding stroke. **_

_**It didn't even matter that the girl below him was shouting, orgasming, or foaming at the mouth. He wouldn't have noticed and wouldn't have cared, either way. Everything was balanced now. **_

**UNSIGNED REVIEWS: **

**.com: **I'm glad you enjoyed the length and the plot so far. Would love to know what you thought about the new development! Thank you for reviewing.

**Strawberries and Cream: **We shall have to see :) At least he hasn't in this chapter.

**Buttercup: **I hope you don't completely hate the turn of events and still like Draco's inner monologue. It should be interesting to see the reception. Hope you're still reading! And I definitely hope you've had a great several weeks. Thank you for reviewing.

**ShaiYikes: **Thank you! I'm glad you're liking it that much. Hope this lives up to your standards!


	10. From the Hips

A/N: Hurray! You didn't have to wait too long for this chapter, I hope. Couple of things you should know: This chapter has a lot of Hermione's POV so I'm excited about that. The song selection refers to the very last section and this is Draco's theme song. LISTEN TO IT PLEASE! It brings a lot of context. There are six more chapters left to this story.

Special thank you to A. Deca for the multitude of sweet reviews and to Glitterboden, whose review inspired me to finish this chapter today. (I literally wrote it in the span of a few hours).

As well, thank you to _all _of my lovely reviewers: Venetiangrl92, A. Deca, Talis Ruadair, HarryPGinnyW4eva, megs100, glitterboden, fanyi, vaneesa85, Cinna16, Skizzy16, reader204, TwinzLover, buttercup, HP-Princess1, and xenaz3.

Some of you might loathe this chapter. SORRY!

_**Song Selection for this Chapter: From the Hips by Cursive **_

**Chapter Ten: From the Hips**

It had been his screams that had woken her.

At first, she had been entirely too disoriented to understand what was going on. Was someone in pain? Was someone dying? Was that someone _her_? She had shot straight up, sitting in an awkward position as she was still trapped in all of her blankets. She reached out to something, anything, whatever it was that was emitting such horrendously painful noises. But that something was out of her grasp, which made everything worse, especially because she couldn't see anything.

Eventually, her eyes adjusted and she realized that it wasn't her that was screaming or anything in her apartment at all. It was coming from outside.

All at once, her heart began to pound and Hermione could barely think, but to reach for her wand and to wrench the door open. To be honest, opening the door took more time than she was proud of, but that was all irrelevant. Malfoy was being mutilated – who else could it be besides Malfoy?

The Death Eaters that were still around, still on the run, and they'd probably found her and by proxy had found him. And now they were killing him because...well, because he was a Malfoy, she assumed. And when they were through with him, they were definitely going to get to her. And tear her to little pieces, just like Bellatrix Lestrange had promised when the witch had tortured her on Malfoy's drawing room floor.

And Malfoy had watched.

Would he have just watched if he'd ingested veela blood then? Or would he have jumped in to save her like she was about to jump in and save him right now? She cringed. It had been years since she'd practiced her dueling, which was fucking stupid of her she now realized, but she'd have to take them on. It was for Malfoy, after all. It didn't matter that he'd watched her get tortured when he was practically a kid. She had to save him now.

She had to do _something, _she just didn't know what.

His screams got louder and she began to hyperventilate. When her name fell from his lips, she finally wrenched open the door, ready to attack whatever the fuck was out there, ready to save him from the monsters. _Fuck_ making plans, she'd go on adrenaline or die trying! It was really all one needed. It was what had kept Harry alive all these years, wasn't it? Quick thinking, quick thinking, all she needed was some quick thinking –

Except there was absolutely no one in the hallway except for Malfoy, writhing and screaming on the floor. She was panting, wildly staring around. They must have been invisible and torturing him in that fashion. Yeah, they must have turned invisible when they'd saw her door open. Surely that would explain why he was still screaming, right?

She squinted down the hallway, trying to get her eyes to focus, which seemed to be a rather fruitless task in itself, until eventually she realized that there really was no one there. Her poorly cast detection spells had only confirmed that much. There really was... no one else there but them. Her and a screaming Malfoy. Where the fuck had he learned to scream so loud?

She quickly knelt down next to him, attempting to figure out what the hell might be wrong with him, but all he did was thrash. He even hit her in the head with one of his flailing arms, and fuck did that hurt like a bitch. She wasn't going to admit that it brought tears to her eyes. That would just be...undignified.

After all, she was meant to be helping him.

After all, she ought to have thought of a body binding jinx when she'd seen him flailing around like that. What had she expected? That an unconscious person _wouldn't _accidently hit her poor aching head while suffering from whatever it was? She was getting too old, too rusty. She was still waking up. What if someone actually _had _been torturing him? What if she'd come too late and he'd died?

She didn't want to think of something like that, especially considering that he was _still _screaming. She didn't know what to do. It had been too many years since she'd heard this kind of screaming – and she realized she _had _heard this kind of screaming before, many times. Hell, she'd lived it, breathed it, and endured it for days.

Everyone had been plagued by nightmares after the war. It had been commonplace, almost.

But that had been years ago and the war was long gone. Sure, she was still visited by nightmares occasionally, but it was never like this anymore. It was never like the unadulterated violence it had once been, attempts to physically slash the offending images away from one's mind. It had taken a lot of therapy and grieving for her to get past it all. Maybe Malfoy just hadn't had the chance.

So she did what she knew how to do, what she'd done for Ron all those years ago when he'd woken up sobbing for his missing family members – both dead and alive. Mrs. Weasley never _had _been the same, after all. Neither had George. She attempted to push Draco's arms down until he quieted, and pulled his head into her lap. It did work for a while.

It worked until he muttered, "_Blaise." _

And then he was mostly silent. Sweating, writhing, jerking once in a while, but mostly silent. She stroked his blond hair away from his face. He looked positively tortured and her heart almost broke. What could she do for him? This kind of suffering didn't just go away on its own. There was nothing she could do but sit here. And she planned to sit here until it was over. Until he was lucid enough to take inside.

Well, at least, that had been the plan until he'd started screaming again.

Only, it wasn't any kind of screaming. It was almost like he was awake. His eyes weren't quite open, but she sometimes caught a flash of his silver blue eyes. It almost scared her. If he hadn't been yelling so clearly, she would've been positive that he was having a seizure. Eventually, the struggling became so intense that she was forced to back away or become injured herself.

She didn't have the strength to hold him down physically as he was much stronger than herself and she knew she couldn't use magic on him now. This wasn't just _any _kind of dream, of course. She knew that if she attempted to bind him with magic, he might choke on his own tongue and suffocate to death. She couldn't stupefy him because he was unconscious, and that could cause brain damage. She couldn't even cushion the floor where he lay because he was thrashing all over the place and she could easily miss.

She couldn't do _anything _for him, and it made her want to cry.

He thrashed and struggled against bindings that were only in his mind and his screams got to such a loud and agonized pitch that she actually _did _begin to cry. It was hard to watch and she couldn't even _do _anything! That was perhaps the worst part, being helpless. Unable to even soothe his hair back from his flushed face. She wasn't one to sit idly by, but what could she do?

She had been wrong about one thing, though. It hadn't been the worst part at all, not being able to do anything. The worst part came when he suddenly stopped, shuddered, and opened his eyes. She rushed towards him, but he only stiffened. It was natural, of course, to be afraid after such an experience. But he had to know that she was only there to help him. If he didn't know, she was going to tell him. She was going to make sure that he knew.

That was until she caught sight of his eyes, glazed over and unfocused. Either he was disoriented or he was still asleep, but neither suited her purposes. She tried to assess his injuries, but he grabbed her wrist when she made the mistake of touching his shoulder. He gripped it so hard that she heard her bones cracking together and she was sure to have a bruise. A very _large _bruise.

Tears sprung to her eyes and she tried to gently pull his fingers off her wrist. He didn't know what he was doing. He'd never do this to her if he was awake. He wasn't even staring at her, he was focused somewhere off in the distance in the opposite direction. His grip tightened even further and she had the sense not to wrench herself out of his grasp. Not only would that not have worked, it would've hurt like hell.

"Draco," she said as calmly as she could manage, but even she could tell her voice was strained. "Draco, please... let go. Let go of me, Draco."

He muttered something unintelligible and she had to lean closer to attempt to make out what he was saying. It was no use. She could barely make sense of what he was trying to tell her – if he was even trying to tell her anything – and the grip he had on her was starting to become unbearable. She made the mistake of trying to pull out of his grasp, but he only tightened his grip even further, if that was possible. She felt like he'd crush her bones in his hands if she didn't do something quick.

That was _not _an easy injury to repair!

"Leave..."

She was really straining now, attempting to pull her arm out of his grasp without any regard of whether this was hurting him or distressing him further. Yeah, she cared that he was suffering, but she sure as hell didn't want her wrist crushed into dust. It hurt, by gods did it hurt, and it seemed like there was nothing she could do about it at the moment, except for struggle.

"_Leave." _

Was he frothing at the mouth? That was a bit creepy. Perhaps he was having a seizure! Gods, that wasn't good. What did one do with people having seizures? Protect the head... well, how the fuck was she supposed to protect his head if he was hell bent on crushing her hand right off her body? And he wasn't convulsing, so perhaps it wasn't a seizure after all.

"_LEAVE!" _he shouted, startling her and making her stop struggling all together.

Spittle from his mouth hit her in the face, but she didn't even cringe – couldn't even cringe, because she was shocked. His eyes were still glazed over and unfocused, but he was staring in her direction now. It wasn't exactly right at her, but it startled her nonetheless. A shiver wracked her body as his pale eyes literally _glared _at her, like she was some kind of vermin. And for a moment, she felt like she was that silly little mudblood walking throughout Hogwarts, but clearly didn't deserve to because her parents were muggles. He was that guy all over again.

"_LEAVE_!" he shouted again, his eyes narrowing as if he was in pain.

She was still in shock, wondering what the hell was going on. This wasn't any kind of dream she'd encountered before. When she weakly jerked her hand away from him once more at a last ditch attempt, he actually let go before curling up away from her into a tight little ball. He began to rock back and forth, sobbing like there was no tomorrow. Like someone had died.

When she made to console him, stroke his back despite the pain that resonated through her entire arm, he stiffened, cringed, and then began to shout again. "LEAVE_! Just fucking, LEAVE! _LEAVE!"

On and on it went until she was forced to listen, just hoping that it would somehow ease his suffering. She hoped it did, because this was all she could do for him now. He clearly didn't want her there. So, she got up, walked gingerly back towards her apartment and slammed the door shut behind her so that he knew she'd listened to him.

It didn't work.

He resumed screaming in pain like someone was torturing him into oblivion. And there wasn't anything she could bloody do about it besides _sit _here like a useless piece of rotting wood. He didn't want her help, didn't want her to soothe his troubles away. No one had ever rejected her like this before. Everyone kept her around because she was useful at helping. He was the first, the _only _one that had...

His screams only escalated and she felt some of her sanity slip away from her like it was a silk sheet, too flimsy to hold itself up against her. She curled up in her blankets and covered her ears. She didn't want to listen to him but couldn't just silence the door in case he actually changed his mind and needed her again. She considered cracking open the door, just so she could watch him to make sure that he wasn't hurting herself, but every time she considered it, it was as if he knew she what she was doing and started shouting at her to _LEAVE! _

Eventually, it stopped, and she thought he might have lost his voice. Perhaps now she ought to go out and see what was going on? But she couldn't. She couldn't even really muster up the energy to sit up anymore, because really – what good would she be anyway? Her wrist throbbed, but she had no inclination to even heal it.

It seemed like hours had passed when she heard him groan and shuffle again. Shell shocked, she bounded up and pressed her ear to the door. Was he going to start up again? Was he going to scream? Would he scream at her for opening the door? She felt trapped in her own skin, too afraid to even breathe. Was he awake? Would he reject her again if she just opened the door and hugged the life out of him?

She heard him get up, shuffle his feet, and groan. Her hands trembled and her wrist felt like it was on fire as she made to open the door and slip out. For a moment, she stood there frozen. She couldn't hear him and wanted to ask just to make sure he was there. But fuck, she was afraid.

"Draco?" she finally called to him with what little courage she had left. "Draco, are you there?"

No response.

Maybe he had passed out? She wouldn't have been surprised. He would've been in a lot of pain, thrashing around on the floor like that. Maybe she could help him. Maybe she could heal whatever bruises he had given himself, if he was too sore to do it himself. She called him again, but heard nothing in response.

Maybe that was what forced her to wrench open the door and burst into the hallway to make sure he was okay. Maybe she just wanted to see him. Maybe she had half a mind to drag him into her apartment to assess his injuries and take care of him. Maybe she actually _liked _him.

But none of that mattered now, because he wasn't even there.

/

She skipped going to work that day. It was wrong of her, but she hadn't taken a sick day in a while and felt like she deserved one. After all, she was still rather shell shocked and startled with what had happened the night before. She hadn't managed to sleep even a wink after she'd discovered he'd wandered off. She had half a mind to write to him, just to make sure he was alright, but something stopped her.

Maybe it was the way he had told her to leave.

Nevertheless, the experience had probably been far more traumatic for him than it had been for her. She wasn't going to hold petty grudges, even though he really had hurt her wrist. It had turned several shades of purple by morning and had been so swollen she had been forced to heal it and put ice on it. But she didn't mind. No, he hadn't known what he was doing. He had been unconscious.

Hermione couldn't bring herself to move away from the door that day. She was afraid that if she went away for even a second, she'd miss him coming – if he even wanted to come see her anymore. Why would he want to, anyway? She hadn't been able to _do _anything for him! He must think she was absolutely incompetent. It made her nervous.

So, she stayed there, wrapped up in a multitude of blankets and uneasily dozing against the wall. She wondered if she ought to leave the door open, just in case he wanted to actually come inside, but she knew he was probably angry at her for not waking him up. How could she have, though? Who knew. She was meant to be the smartest witch of her age and she couldn't even deal with a bloody _nightmare. _

It was a catastrophe.

It was really late in the night when she finally heard his familiar footsteps. She'd grown accustomed to listening for them over the past few weeks. It had been lucky too. She had been just about to force herself to get up and feed herself as she hadn't eaten all day, had barely moved, in fact, just in case she'd miss him coming.

"Draco?" she called out to him, tentative. What if he didn't want to talk? What if he was still angry with her? But in all honesty, what _could _she have done? That thought gave her a smidgeon of confidence, enough to call out to him again. "Draco, is that you?"

For a moment, all was silent. She had a feeling he didn't want to talk to her and was afraid for a split second that he _wouldn't. _What would she do then? What _could _she do then? She couldn't force him to talk. If he didn't want to talk, then he certainly didn't want to come inside. She couldn't _force _him to come inside, could she? She couldn't tell him to leave, either, because of the veela blood. She wouldn't make him suffer just because she was embarrassed. It was obvious that he was suffering enough.

"Yeah, it's me," he said quietly after a moment too long.

That was enough to relieve her, though, and she sighed. She untangled herself from the wall, smiling slightly. He was going to stay. It didn't matter that he didn't want to come inside and see her face – he was _staying. _And that was good enough for her. She made herself more comfortable and noted his silence.

For a moment, it was a very _awkward _silence. She knew what was on both of their minds, but what could she do about it? How was she supposed to bring up what had happened without offending him and making him run away like he had yesterday? She wasn't going to be a bitch and bring it up. She just couldn't do that to him, even though she burned to know what it was that was plaguing him.

So, she figured she'd do the next best thing. "Did you... did you have a bad day at work?" she asked, hating herself for sounding so unsure.

His response was almost immediate. "Yeah," he said, sarcastically. "Bad day at work." The sigh that followed was so morose that she began to shake.

A serious blush spread over her face. How could she be so... idiotic? Of course he didn't want to talk about it! Of course he didn't want to bring something like that up. It was obvious he was embarrassed about it, but he should know that she understood. Of course she understood. She'd had horrid dreams before too, and she'd had to go see a mind healer to deal with him. He needn't be ashamed, least of all in front of her.

She wanted to show him that, wanted to make sure that he actually _understood _she didn't despise him for hurting her or anything like that. So she pressed on, hoping that this conversation would, at least, help him recuperate.

"What happened? Do you want to talk about it?" It was vague enough. If he wanted to speak about it, he could do so now. But he didn't have to. He could rant about anything really. She prided herself on being non-confrontational.

"Sure, sweetheart, if you _insist_." His voice was suddenly so kind that her heart began to pound. Maybe he'd understood her offer. Maybe she ought to just open the door now and hug him like nothing else mattered. She sure as hell was happy enough to do so, relieved that he'd forgiven her. "My best friend isn't very relenting, you know. He can be a slave driver when he wants to be." His sigh was so wistful, she wondered if she could do anything about it.

It was obvious he wanted to talk now, so she made herself sit up straight so she could focus. "I'm sure it's very... difficult," she offered. She didn't know what to say, but he needed to know that she was willing to listen to _anything _he wanted to talk about. If that made him get over his awkwardness, then it was alright with her.

"Oh, of course! I'm not used to all of this, none of it at all. But I'm glad you had made me have this experience. I'm thankful for it, learning a lot and making something of myself... what's the word..."

"Enjoyable?" she guessed. His voice sounded like silk and she wondered whether or not he even knew he was doing it.

"_Gratifying," _he responded, instead. She shivered. The way he said it was almost like he wanted to make her understand what true gratification was. She imagined his breath against her ear as he said it and couldn't help but blush like a fool. Surely he knew what he was doing. "Electrifying."

"Is it? Really?" She hoped she didn't sound as breathless as she felt. Fuck! She was supposed to be _helpful _not _idiotic! _

"It is. In fact, just today I finalized the guest list for that party we're going to be having." He sounded so pleased with himself that she couldn't help but smile for him. He'd progressed _so _much since she'd first met him. It was amazing, really. "It's going to be so brilliant seeing all the hard work I've been putting in paying off. All because of you."

That startled her. What could he possibly mean? "Because of me?"

"Because of you," he insisted. "I wouldn't have done any of it without you, _Hermione." _The way he said her name was like sin. She briefly wondered what it would feel like it taste it off his lips, but had to shake that thought out of her head, because he was talking again.

"I would... really appreciate it if you came, you know," Draco muttered, suddenly so heart wrenchingly insecure that she had to literally stop herself from interrupting him. "It's very daunting, stepping up into something as large as the company my father left me."

"I don't know..."

It was one thing to want to help him, and she did – she _really _wanted to help him. It was clear to her now that he was suffering from something and that it was her duty to help him get past it. Who would she be if she'd let him just suffer like that? She wasn't that kind of person. But then again, if she went to this party with him, it'd be like suicide. She'd be announcing to the entire Wizarding World that she was dating him. Ex Death Eater, playboy, and pureblood. What would people say?

"Please? I don't think I could do it without you..." he said, sounding like he was going to crack under the strain of the weight that was undoubtedly on his shoulders.

And that partially made up her mind. Perhaps this was his way of telling her that he was forgiving her for not being able to help him enough. Maybe this was a sign that he _wasn't _just out to screw her because of some veela blood he'd ingested. She could get past it all if it was going to help him get better. And if she had to ruin her reputation to do it, well... maybe that was just the price to pay. She wouldn't regret it.

So, firming her resolve, she told him, "I'll think about it."

And Hermione thought things might just be getting better.

/

While Hermione was clearly recuperating from what she had done to him, Draco was in quite a predicament. Unfortunately for him, that predicament was dark, dirty, and stank like something was rotting. Maybe it was him that was rotting, he could certainly feel the stab of pain and neglect inside and out. He could feel the hatred taking root inside of him like nothing else he'd felt in a long time. It wasn't going to go away.

There was no way this was going to go away by itself.

Hermione Granger had successfully ruined his life. And what had he to show for it except for a couple of bruises, a sore throat, and his damaged pride? Nothing. That was the problem. He had _nothing _from her. She hadn't given him anything in the weeks that he'd pursued her. And why? Because he was a _Malfoy? _Well, fuck her. She ought to know that Malfoys' were better than anyone else anyhow. Especially better than her, the know nothing at all, goody two shoes, annoying fucking bint –

"So, how are you?" she asked him, sweeter than she had any right to. He hated her for it.

"Fantastic," he cooed back. "And yourself?"

His own voice sickened him. She didn't deserve any more of his efforts, but there really was nothing else that he could do. Regardless of what his mind was telling him, regardless of all the hatred that was stored in his chest, his body still _wanted _her like it wanted nothing else. He still craved her. He still sickened if he was away from her too long.

It was better than before, of course. He could be away from her for quite a few hours before his body realized that she wasn't there anymore. But he was ready to move past this now. He was ready to be done with her. He knew now that she was just like every other stupid bint he'd encountered, so he could treat her like one. All it took were a few nice words and she'd be in the palm of his hand. Then he could rid his body of her like a plague.

She _deserved _to be discarded like she had discarded him.

"I'm alright," she said quietly, and for a split second he wondered if she were telling him the truth. She didn't _sound _alright. But he had to forcibly remind himself that he didn't care, and she didn't _actually _care about him. No, she never had and never could. Cold hearted bitch that she was, she just was entranced. "What's the dress code for your party?"

"Anything you want it to be, sweetheart," he said out of reflex.

"Draco!"

"_Hermione," _he purred, fighting the urge to roll his eyes when she actually giggled. "It's formal," he added, when she didn't press on.

She prattled on about something else, but he wasn't paying attention anymore. She was actually deciding to come, then. She was actually giving in like any other woman would, like all other women before her had. She was no better than them. In fact, she was worse. They'd wanted him for his money, his power, even his special brand of debauchery. _She _just wanted to hurt him.

And now that he was going to be rid of her, he was glad. He was glad that when she would finally realize that she'd been used just as thoroughly as she'd used him. She'd be just as broken as he was. Fucking bitch, she deserved it, deserved it for what she'd done to him all these weeks. She still didn't have the decency to open the door, did she? No. He wasn't going to be forgiving.

When he finally had her in his bed, he'd make the bitch pay. Even though it made his skin crawl, he knew it had to be done. She deserved it. She _deserved _it! It was all he could think of for hours as she talked about one thing or another. It was all he could think of until she decided she was going to sleep.

"Goodnight, love," he said cheerily.

She didn't correct him, even though just a couple days ago she would've reprimanded him, would've told him they clearly didn't have that kind of relationship. And that just firmed his resolve. She wasn't Hermione Granger. She was that bitch she-devil that had left him to fend for himself.

Yeah, he was going to be happy to be rid of her.

/

It was almost like Hermione was floating on a cloud. She felt free these days and didn't know the exact reason. She smiled without abandon and more often, just because she felt like it. She said hello to strangers and goodbye to her fellow workers. She went to work without complaint or grumbling to herself. She whistled while she worked, sang while she showered, and danced while she cooked.

It was almost like she was an entirely different person. Or at least, she was now a person people hadn't seen for a very long time.

And it was true. For people who knew her well, even though those people were quite few and in between, it was almost like Hermione was back to the teenage girl she'd been in her Hogwarts years. She was somehow optimistic, still bossy in that insufferable way of course, but cheerily so. She wasn't _tired _of her life anymore. In fact, the argument could be made that she was actually happy.

Ginny thought she'd finally gotten laid.

Hermione had playfully slapped her for that. Ginny had been shocked – no reprimand? No scowl? Something really _was _up.

Unbeknownst to them all, they weren't quite off the mark. Something _was _up and it was quite simple really. Hermione Granger was rather happy. She hadn't known that that was what had been missing from her life, but once it had resurfaced, she'd been shocked that she hadn't noticed it before. Happiness? Really? That's all it took to feel like you were floating on a bed of fluffy clouds?

Not that one could actually float on real clouds, of course. They were made entirely of water. One would simply sink through, so the concept of cloud floating was entirely moot. But Hermione couldn't care less. Hell, if she wanted, she could magic a fluffy white cloud made of _cotton. _What would the realists say then, huh?

She couldn't help but grin at the littlest of things and it wasn't too difficult to imagine why either. For anyone that knew - and it was really only her and the other person involved - they'd know that Draco Malfoy had just upturned her spirits.

To be honest, she wasn't entirely sure why.

It wasn't because he was entirely too cute for his own good, or the fact that he was playful, kind, and insanely nice. It wasn't even that he was so attractive that she could stare at him for hours, or that his intelligence was something that most people took for granted. He was more than she'd given him credit for. He was... different.

Maybe it was the fact that he had forgiven her. Perhaps that was the reason that she couldn't stop smiling when he was around. No one, ever, had ever given forgiveness _that _freely. Not even her parents had given her that kind of a gift. And wasn't that their jobs? It wasn't his, no definitely not his. He had every reason to be mad at her. He had every reason to just walk away and be rude. But he hadn't.

And she just couldn't help but smile at him for that.

Of course, she didn't push him too far, because it seemed like he was still kind of embarrassed for his whole nightmare episode, but that would soon be in the past. She was confident about it. Soon, they'd never even have to talk about it ever again. And when he was ready, they could be done with the whole talking behind doors thing. It was _really _getting old, after all, and she was tired. One couldn't truly have a civilized conversation if they couldn't even make proper eye contact. She just hoped he was ready for it sooner rather than later.

But most of all, she was happy because she felt like she was actually helping him. Every day it was almost like he was lighter and happier – at least, that's what their conversations felt like. They talked about everything and anything. He didn't hide his opinions like he used to when he was afraid to disagree with her. She almost fell in love with his quirks, his easy words, his quick retorts.

It also helped that he was unfailingly sweet.

Every morning, she would open the door to head to work and hope to Merlin that he was still there, waiting for her. It would be a nice excuse to bump into him, wouldn't it? But she supposed that that was still too much to ask. After all, he was probably still recuperating from that traumatic experience. She probably would've just ran away in general. At least he still made the effort to see her. She was glad for it.

Instead of finding him there, she'd find a present of some sort. One day it would be a beautiful bouquet of flowers, another day it might be a box of chocolates. Hermione soon had a pile of presents sitting next to where she slept in front of her door, just so she could stare at it before she fell asleep. It was unfailingly nice. It was strange for her. She'd never behaved like this before.

But she supposed she didn't mind. She was allowed this one indulgence, she told herself. Just this once... After all, everything that she, Ron, and Harry had gone through in their school years had robbed her of her teenage tendencies. She hadn't had the opportunity to truly fantasize after a random crush like all the other teenage girls had.

No, Gilderoy Lockhart did not bloody count.

Maybe she was going too far in her need to get her teenage hormones out of her system, or maybe she was far too blinded by her emotions to realize how creepy she was actually behaving, but her favourite gift that he'd left behind for her was his blanket.

Now, she wasn't exactly _stupid. _Of course she knew that he hadn't actually left his blanket behind for her. He'd probably had slept in a little too late and had had to rush off to work like a mad man. But she'd taken it nonetheless instead of folding it up and leaving it there for him like she normally would have. She didn't exactly know why she'd done it and didn't really want to question herself about it, either.

All she knew was that it was rather comforting, having it here with her. She was aware how stalkerish it was to do it, but she couldn't help it. She wrapped it around herself when she slept and sometimes smelled it. It did faintly smell of him and his cologne, which she'd always thought was attractive. Somehow, she couldn't find it in herself to be ashamed of her actions.

Maybe she just didn't bloody care. All she knew was that he'd left it there and sure hadn't asked for it back yet, so in her mind it was hers to keep. Nonetheless, if he ever asked her about it, she'd deny it like there was no tomorrow. There was no way she'd let him catch her like this, no matter how deliriously happy he made her.

He'd think she was crazy!

Nonetheless, she _was _happy. Insanely so. Things were going well, somehow. She couldn't wait to see where things would take her.

_Welcome to my life, Malfoy, _she thought before falling asleep.

/

One day, Draco had finally had enough of being sweet to his tormentor.

It wasn't that it was difficult or anything. He'd been around women nearly all his life, so wooing them was almost like second nature to him. It wasn't all that difficult to leave little gifts outside her door for her or say the right things at the right time. In fact, it was all too bloody easy. He could physically feel her falling for him – his body could sense that the prey was close to being captured – and it disgusted him all the further.

It disgusted him because it was too easy.

She was meant to be _difficult _and a bitch, not a bitch and as easy as any other slag! He could find that anywhere, he could literally get that anytime he wanted. Hell, he could pick a girl off the street and woo her to her knees if he was so inclined! Where had his Granger gone? Where was his Granger now?

He had to remind himself that it didn't matter, that even his Granger had rejected him thousands of times. Even his Granger didn't _actually _want him. He just needed to be rid of her and move on with his life. Then everything could be normal. Then he could return to his debauchery and never work a day in his life. Yeah, it would be easy.

But in the meanwhile, he was bloody bored of the easiness.

Draco had always had the tendency to become bored rather easily. In fact, some would say that it was his defining characteristic. Before Granger had landed and ruined his entire bloody life, Draco had been involved with several girls at one time over a long period. The girls knew it, so it wasn't _all _that big of a deal, but he'd been discrete about it anyway. It had helped eased his sense of boredom.

And now that he was confined with the snake in lion's clothes, and had been for _weeks, _that boredom had risen to a level that was practically unmanageable. Hell, if he didn't occupy himself with something substantial soon, he was probably going to _burst! _And not even in the good way. It was rather unfortunate that Granger was such a bitch, really. He was sure he'd have been happy taking up her time if she hadn't been so... reluctant.

Or if she hadn't chewed him up, spit him out, trampled over the pieces, and then lit him on fire, only to watch him burn into charred little pieces. Oh yeah, and then pissed all over his ashes!

_That bloody bitch. _

It was with this mentality that he returned to the club. Entering his old haunt gave him some sense of uneasiness now, as if his body knew he ought not to be there, but he pushed it aside. Granger clearly didn't want him, so it was only fitting that he go find someone who actually did until he could be rid of her. And that time was going to come soon. Yeah, he was going to be rid of her very soon.

Nevertheless, he shivered when he felt the mysterious air envelope him, surround him with its smoky feel. It was always a special kind of feeling, walking into the room where the walls were lined with mirrors and women. Usually, it was an air of superiority, one that allowed a man to feel empowered, respected, _important. _Today, Draco only felt a sense of foreboding, like he really ought not to be here, ought not to consider what he was about to do. His body told him his place was back with Granger. His mind told his body to shut the bloody fuck up.

He took his usual seat in the back where no one could really see him. His face was hotter than usual and he couldn't think of a reason why that should be so, so he ignored it. Come to think of it, he was getting really good at that, ignoring things that didn't have explanations. Even ignoring things that _did _have explanations. It was getting too easy now and Draco despised that.

Eventually, someone got him a drink. He didn't really remember drinking it.

All he did was sit there and breathe in his surroundings. It was still early in the evening, so there weren't too many people there. If Draco wasn't mistaken, it was also a week day, meaning the crowd of patrons was thin. But that didn't matter, no, not at all, because that meant no bodies would obstruct his view of the women. No matter the fact that his body felt it was wrong to stare as such a lewd scene, that's what he'd come here for, hadn't he? And that's probably what he would get, too.

After all, these women were free with their bodies, giving in to whatever pleasure they so desired. They were never forced, no; he didn't really know anyone in the club's members who was into that. Why would they be? There was a woman here for everyone, a woman who liked just what you liked and wanted to do. Draco just needed to be _free, _free like they were.

They were dancing in the smoke filled room, the women, that is. On some level, Draco realized that they must enjoy dancing to move like that. They were lithe, graceful, and bloody lewd if any description was needed. They didn't need men to move like that because they had each other to grind upon, to caress. And for some reason, that made it all the sexier.

And all the more wrong.

He must have watched for hours, how they moved and their pretty painted faces. They couldn't _naturally _look like that, of course. There was nothing natural about them. But in their movements was a kind of dignity normal women just couldn't possess. _Other _women couldn't move like that, and Draco had had plenty of relations with _other _women to know that this was true. If there was a reason he always ended up back here, it was probably because of that.

They were different. They were like him.

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there when a wraith like girl sauntered over to him. He didn't need to say anything to her; she just knew what he wanted. How? He didn't know. But she just began to move, solely for him. It was entrancing to watch, especially because he didn't recognize her. Perhaps she was new here. Whoever she was, she was a perfect addition to this place.

The girl, because she _was _a girl, was thin. Almost _too _thin, Draco could see her bones as she writhed before him. Usually, Draco wouldn't go for something like that as they looked far too fragile to do anything substantial with, but as she moved he could see her body was knotted with lean muscles. Over her stomach, her arms, even her bare legs. She was scantily clad enough that he could see all that and more.

Her skin was dark, coffee coloured, and her hair was blacker than either of the Patil twins. Her eyes were the colour of chocolate, delicious pools of melted chocolate, and her lips had been painted a ruby red. She was beautiful, there was no denying that, but she was nothing like Granger. In fact, she was the perfect opposite of Granger.

Maybe that was why Draco chose her and took her into one of the back rooms.

His stomach was knotted, sure that she'd shake off his hold on her and run away. He waited for her to reject him as he leaded her to his usual room in the back. He waited, but nothing came. She only followed silently, keeping up with his quick steps. He wondered why she'd chosen him. He wondered if she even knew who he was. It didn't matter, either way, but he wondered nonetheless.

When they reached the room, he splayed her on the bed and didn't bother turning on the lights. What good would it do? He was nervous enough being in a room with a girl that was not Hermione Granger. It was a death sentence on its own, he didn't need to see it happen. She lay there willingly though, and he followed, placing himself between her legs.

As he kissed her awkwardly, doing his best not to cringe, he felt like a damned teenager. But he supposed his fear of being in this situation was warranted, because already he could feel the dull pains spreading throughout his body. His body didn't want _this _girl, his body wanted Granger. Granger, who was probably sitting in her flat and waiting for him. Perhaps if he left now he could make it there in time to have dinner with her like he'd been having for the past few weeks. He could blame Blaise for making him late, even though he hadn't been in to work for a few days now.

_She doesn't want you, _his mind whispered to him. _Don't be a fool. _

So he pressed his tongue into her mouth and stroked hers with his. She seemed to like that and she seemed surprised that he'd snapped out of whatever awkwardness that was stopping him. It wasn't to last, though. When her hands found their way to her back, he once again froze up and grimaced. She stopped. He wondered if she was confused. He wondered if she was regretting coming in here with him.

_She doesn't want you. She left you there to die. _

That was true. "What's your name, sweetheart?" he asked. He hoped his voice was smooth.

"Carmen," she replied. He voice wasn't sultry. It wasn't purposely sexy. She sure as hell wasn't cooing at him like she should've been, like how all the other girls would have done in her place. For some reason, that made him feel better. She was normal and she was with him. That must mean something. "Nice to meet you, Draco Malfoy."

"How do you know my name?" he asked.

"Everyone knows your name," she responded. He could hear the smile in her voice even though he couldn't see it. Her statement made him feel better. It was true. Everyone here knew his name.

"Why did you choose me, then?"

He felt her shrug under him and for a second he was worried. She was normal, she had chosen him, and she didn't have a reason. What was she playing at? Surely she wanted something. Surely this meeting meant something, whether it was money or pleasure or company. Or maybe an invite to his highly publicized party. There had to be _some _reason. Something. Even Granger had reasons. How could this one not?

"You seemed sad and lonely. I thought that I would join you," she said slowly, as if he would misinterpret her. Perhaps he would have. He had a notoriously short attention span, after all. Everyone knew that.

But this was something that was unmistakeable.

Her statement was almost therapeutic, kind of like a balm to his soul. This _stranger _cared. Sure, it was probably her job to care about the patrons of this place, but he didn't mind paying. Granger hadn't cared. Hell, she didn't even want him. She'd left him there to suffer. She had let him suffer. All alone. Somehow, though, it was alright because there were people not like her. There were people like this Carmen. And as long as that was a reality, he would never drown.

So, he began to kiss down her neck with fervor, one that he hadn't felt in months. It was what he needed. She was what he needed. Fuck Granger. He didn't need her. He _didn't _need her. And this time, as he told himself that lie, he actually believed it to be true.

She arched into him and before he knew it, their clothes were gone. He hadn't known when it had happened; all he could hear was Carmen moaning under him. Her legs wrapped around him and he realized they were bloody long. Her hands were in his hair and her breasts were pushed up against his chest, rubbing as they moved together.

He wanted her. She knew that, could probably feel it. But his body felt betrayed. His body _still _wanted Granger and he just couldn't understand why. The veela blood could just burn in hell. After this, maybe he'd even go veela hunting. But right now, just for this goddamn moment, he needed to endure the pain somehow.

_She doesn't want you. She doesn't need you. She left you there to suffocate. _

And she had, hadn't she? She'd done that to him. So he was going to do it to her now. He was going to leave her there while he was with another woman, and it would all be fantastically alright in the end. As he pressed himself into her he realized, this was exactly what he was made for. He was at his best when he was this filthy. The pain ceased to matter because this was who he was. And Draco Malfoy never shied away from the truth. No, he embraced it with every pounding stroke.

It didn't even matter that the girl below him was shouting, orgasming, or foaming at the mouth. He wouldn't have noticed and wouldn't have cared, either way. Everything was balanced now. His mind was calm and frantic at the same time. He began to thrust faster as he was taken into abandon. There was no more room for mistakes now, no doubts.

Except, _she doesn't want me. _

And that only made him pound all the harder. It was easy after a few minutes because the pain was pushed into the back of his mind. Perhaps it was because his nerves were being pleasurably stimulated and his body could no longer feel pain. Or perhaps the pain had just turned into pleasure. Whatever the case, it was all gone. He wondered if this is what it felt like for girls when they lost their virginity.

_She'll never want you, Draco. _

He could faintly hear Carmen scream her orgasm. Was it her first? Second? Third? Was it even an orgasm? Sure it was. He could feel her repeatedly clenching around him. Her body quivered under him and he managed to press his mouth over her breast and suck. He imagined how Hermione would react to the news. He imagined how Hermione would arch when he'd do this to her later.

_But she'll never want you. _

He could only last so long. Eventually, he had to call out _her _name, even though she was the she-devil, and empty himself into the girl that was below him. It was unfair, of course, but the girl had the good sense not to say anything or even to be offended. No, that was her job, after all. Instead, she just held him and they panted together. He just hoped it was gratifying.

As Carmen fell asleep next to him, he realized he'd actually defeated the veela blood. It had hurt like hell to do it, but it didn't matter. He was mostly numb now. Somewhere in his mind he knew his body was actually shaking in pain, but somehow he just couldn't feel it. It was obvious though. She didn't want him and he had just proven to himself that he didn't need her, either.

That made him smirk.

_Goodbye, Hermione Granger, _he thought, _and good Riddance. _

**A/N: DUN DUN DUN DUNNNNNN! I know you're probably going to stab me in my sleep for this... But that's a risk I'm willing to take. Let me know what you thought about it! Here's your usual spoiler: **

"**Leave**_**!" she shouted when he wouldn't listen to her. "I don't want to see your face here ever again, and I swear if I do, I **_**will **_**apply for a restraining order!" **_

**Unsigned Reviews: **

**Fanyi: **Because you have your Private Messaging disabled, I'm going to leave this here for you. I'm glad you're enjoying this story as much as I enjoy writing it! I do try my best to come up with as original an idea to write as possible, and I've never seen this happen before, so I'm glad you like it. I only hope, though, that my now sporadic update schedule isn't too sparse. I'm not proud of the last break I took. Thank you for the well wishes! They were very kind of you. :)

**Buttercup: **I think you were one of the few that actually liked Draco's change, so that's positive! To answer your question, (And this is a question a lot of people ask me) I don't think Draco and Hermione have the kind of relationship where he can just offer her a job. She's independent and is too proud for such things and he can barely manage to get to work himself, you know? As well, considering that they're still in the stage where they're speaking through doors to each other, I don't think they're in that kind of a trustworthy position, you know? I don't know if I managed to write this in, but Hermione actually feels like she needs to do her job because no one else will – who else will take care of the poor defenceless animals besides her? Hope this helps!


	11. Somebody that I used to Know

A/N: Sorry for the delay on this chapter! It was quite a trip to write, as you all will soon figure out for yourselves. You might not like this, a lot of you probably won't. But it's necessary, I swear to you!

Everything in italics is from the "night before" at Draco's extravagant party.

A special thank you to all my reviewers: HermionenDraco368, Venetiangrl92, Vaneesa85, xxfreexx, thegoddessgirl, megs100, constellationgazer, reader204, Twinzlover, IaTeYoUrMuFfInx, linalove, Kimm Possible, Glitterboden, HarryPGinnyW4eva, jane2325, Talis Ruadair, Khoes, Eva1983, JadePowell, nikki98, Ms. Louis Cordice Zabini, buttercup, and Strawberry Peaches.

Enjoy!

_**Song Selection for this chapter: Somebody that I used to Know by Gotye **_

**Chapter Eleven: Somebody that I used to Know **

_The night was calm, calmer than expected at this time of year, but Hermione couldn't find it within herself to be thankful. Of course, good weather meant that her impossibly high heeled shoes wouldn't get ruined, nor would the dress that she had purchased especially for this occasion. It was also true that good weather meant that she wouldn't need to lug around an umbrella or a heavy coat, which made even the most graceful people look unseemly. But she didn't have it in herself to pay attention to the weather. _

_Even though she knew most girls would. _

_She took a deep breath and pretended that that sweet breath of fresh air would cleanse her soul. It didn't, of course, but it was nice to pretend all the same. Sometimes, fanciful thinking was all that got people through the day. Hermione knew that was what was running her life too – idiotic thinking. She knew she ought to just turn back and abandon this whole adventure she'd embarked on, but she just couldn't make herself move. _

_So, she just stood there, quite like an idiot as people walked passed her, not even sparing her a glance. Why spare her a glance where there was an entire night of revelry and joy waiting just beyond those gates and up the long, winding path? Hermione shivered. The world shivered with her. _

_Her surroundings were pleasant enough. Huge, obscenely huge, iron wrought gates stood before her, magically enchanted no doubt with a thousand years of spell work. She'd have expected no less from the Malfoys, who only really needed an opportunity to express how mighty and pureblooded they were. Maybe if she set a foot on the other side of those large, daunting gates, the skies would open up and strike her with lightning. What else could a mudblood expect at the Malfoy Manor? _

_Because that's what she was, after all, wasn't it? A stupid filthy fucking mudblood. _

_Hermione sighed and made to move forward, attempting to accept her fate. But something stopped her. It wasn't a physical presence; at least, she didn't think it was. It was more so her memories. She had been here before, of course. It had been many long years ago, so long she couldn't even remember the exact date and hour as she used to be able to. But she remembered nonetheless. _

_It wasn't easy to forget something like that. And all because of her blood. That's what it came down to, wasn't it? The entire mansion and the grounds that accompanied it before her represented all that she was not. Classy, elegant, magnificent, and pureblooded. She clearly didn't belong here, as Malfoy had reminded her constantly when they'd been back at school. _

_Did ingesting a little bit of veela blood really change all that? _

_Did veela blood make up for the fact that she'd been tortured on these very grounds? That she'd screamed and they'd all just watched the psychotic witch cast curse after curse? Was it all just supposed to be okay? She didn't know. All she knew was that she remembered the days when Malfoy had taunted her, had ridiculed her, had degraded her very being just because she'd had the misfortune of not being just like him. _

_But then, no one was exactly like him. _

_He was, she reasoned, more than that bratty little boy that had made her life a miserable hell on good days. He wasn't Malfoy anymore, no longer the child that had been too afraid to act on her behalf when she'd needed him – anyone. No, he wasn't even a pureblood. He was just Draco – the man that had sat there for hours and listened to her ramble like no one else. _

_He was the man who liked grilled cheese sandwiches and muggle scotch. He was the foolhardy, emotional, irrational, most dedicated fellow she'd ever known, hidden beneath layers and layers of defence mechanisms that must've taken years to build. But that was what he was: Special. He wasn't a pureblood supremacist and he certainly didn't hate her. _

_At least, she hoped that was all true. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered. He'd told her that he needed her and he'd spent a lot of time and money buying her gifts to persuade her to come here. Like that had mattered. Hell, she'd made up her mind when he'd expressed that he'd needed her there. If she could make him a changed man for the better, she'd have done it in a heartbeat. _

_And no, it wasn't because he was charming when he wanted to be, or the fact that she was considering jumping his bones. It was that he was vulnerable. She couldn't help but want to protect him, not after all he'd done for her. Not after all he'd shared about himself. _

_So, she tentatively took one step beyond the giant gates, waiting to be shocked. When nothing happened, she quickly made her way up the winding path towards the open doors of the Malfoy Manor with the rest of the excited guests. She felt foolish for being here, yet she'd made up her mind. She wasn't going back. She was going to see this through to the end. And when this was all over and done with, she'd give Malfoy the kiss of his life. _

_Somewhere above her, the Gods must have been laughing. _

/

Hermione woke up with a groan, clutching her head and cursing whoever it was that was making all that noise. Goodness, people were _rude _these days. Couldn't they see she was sleeping? At the very least they could keep it the hell down! She attempted to open her eyes, but that clearly wasn't about to happen any time soon. They were crusted shut in the most disgusting of fashions.

She wanted to get up off whatever surface she was on – was it the floor or was it her bed? She couldn't tell and it didn't matter, anyway – but couldn't even manage that, she was so sore. And all the while, that incessant drumming continued, bothering her to no end. Her throat was parched and she realized she was quite nauseated.

No, she was hungry. Her stomach had just growled a second ago if she'd heard correctly. Yeah, growled, it was rather unmistakeable, even over all that banging and distressful noise. But then, why was her stomach churning if it was growling as well? Was she sick? Was she _diseased? _Holy hell, she was dying wasn't she, her stomach was eating itself from the inside out and she was going to spit up bile!

Or...

Or, she was hung over.

Forcing herself to get up and blindly find her way to some water proved to be a good idea. She couldn't think if she couldn't see, so first things first she'd have to solve _that _problem. And then perhaps she'd puke. Oh yes, she'd throw up to her heart's content _after _her eyes could be pried open. In fact, she had no other intentions that day besides puking, eating, and puking again!

"Fucking hell, you're disgusting, Hermione," she muttered to herself. Then stopped because muttering to oneself was clearly a sign of derangement. And she wasn't deranged, was she? Who the fuck cared anyway? She was who she was and no one was complaining. Besides her. And who cared what she thought, anyway?

Shaking her head to clear her mind of her strange ramblings, then regretting it because the motion caused bile to rise in her throat, Hermione attempted to find her way to the bathroom. It was an arduous journey, one she'd made countless times but for some reason couldn't retrace just at that moment. In fact, she bumped into several walls on her way there and swore to blast them away just as soon as she could _see. _

When she finally found the sink and nearly burned herself with scalding hot water, she blessedly washed the disgusting gunk out of her eyes and groaned in satisfaction. How had this happened? How had she ended up like this? It was obvious she was at home, but how had she gotten home in the first place? Had someone robbed her, because seriously, she'd flip her lid if that had happened –

Hermione screamed.

In the midst of her internal jumbled dialogue, Hermione had made the mistake of looking up into her mirror. And by gods did she not like what she saw there. Her hair was in clumps, matted in some areas, greasy in others, sticking up frantically in the back as if she'd been fighting a werewolf. Makeup was smeared all over her face. Lipstick, mascara, liner galore! Her skin was gray in pallor; she could even see the veins around her eyes. There was dried spittle, tears, and god knows what...

And it didn't help that there was an incessant banging originating somewhere inside her apartment. How could she think with all that noise? How the hell was she supposed to remember what had happened last night – which, as she just recalled, had been Malfoy's grand party – when her head was aching and that idiotic drumming refused to cease?

At first, Hermione thought she must be crazy. After all, where could that drumming even come from? It certainly wasn't from her, because she didn't even own drums, and the only person that lived on this entire floor was the old lady down the hall, who barely came outside let alone beat on drums! Eventually, the noise became so unbearable that she just had to go investigate.

Imagine her surprise when she found six different owls were tapping their beaks against her living room window like no tomorrow. Rushing towards the window and instantaneously regretting the motion, for it literally rocked her world, she opened it and let the poor blasted owls into her flat. They all glared at her in turn for making them wait what seemed to be _hours, _then stuck their respective legs out.

She sheepishly untied the mail that clearly belonged to her, wondering if she even had owl treats to offer them. Perhaps in the upper cupboard... But it didn't matter, because once the owls had been relieved of their burdens, they flew out her open window without a second glance at her. Clearly, they were fed up with stupid humans who consumed alcohol. Hell, for all she knew, this was some kind of common occurrence that owls had to go through daily.

What would it be like living like an owl, she wondered? A poor life it must be, she decided closely thereafter.

Throwing the mail onto the couch, which she had no doubt slept on because it was rather rumpled and smelled of alcohol, she hobbled to the loo to take care of her horrific hygiene. Washing her face turned out to be a horrid experience, because her skin was rather sensitive and raw. From what, she could only guess. The water from the shower nearly scalded her, causing her to cry out, but then loosened her sore muscles.

Again the question plagued her: What had happened last night?

She pondered it as she stood under the steaming shower spray, letting the water pound against her back. She sighed. She did remember going into the Manor and being greeted by lots and lots of people – for the place had been packed. Had she even _seen _Draco? Perhaps. Perhaps not. For some reason, her mind produced an image of Ron – why, she couldn't imagine.

But then, other images began to provide themselves for her. She remembered drinking out of nervousness, for she had been insanely nervous. She remembered dancing with lots and lots of people. Ginny had been there, but without Padma for some reason. So had... Ron? Perhaps. She remembered frolicking in the garden. She remembered Draco.

She remembered kissing Draco.

_Kissing Draco! _By gods! Had she actually done that? Had she honestly made out with a Malfoy? A grin spread out over her face and butterflies erupted in her stomach. Of course, she could've just been dreaming. But then again, she _had _been drunk, if the smell of her couch was anything to go by. Hell, she still was a little drunk if the wooziness was a sign. She didn't quite feel herself, but then what girl would feel herself after remembering that she'd kissed a _Malfoy? _

But then another question plagued her, and it was an important question to answer. Had she slept with him? She had no recollection of it and she didn't think he was here, but it could've happened. He was still on his veela blood, after all, and she'd been drunk. What would that mean for them?

It was only then that Hermione realized the water had gone freezing cold and shrieked. She was never going to drink again, and by Gods someone ought to kill her if she ever even thought about it! Jumping out of the shower and grabbing the nearest towel, she slowly tried to walk to her bedroom to get dressed. Who knew how long that would take in this condition? Thank god it was a Saturday.

Only, another tapping on her window got her attention before she could go to her room.

Scowling, she held her towel tighter around her, and stomped grumpily into her living room to get the window. She thought she might have even recognized Ginny and Padma's owl in the congregation outside her window. In the space of the hour she'd been in the shower, eight more owls had gathered outside her window, demanding to be let in. What had she done last night, really? It must have been something insanely scandalous if she was this popular this morning.

Gathering her mail, she sat down in a chair, forgoing getting dressed. This seemed far more important. Sifting through the letters, she found Ginny's handwriting, and opened that first.

_Went a bit wild last night and scared us all, didn't you, you fox? Didn't know you had it in you, really, I have to say I'm proud. Of course, it's all my work, so I take full credit. _

_How are you taking the news?_

_G. _

Hermione had no idea what the redhead was on about. What _news? _She could hardly remember how she'd gotten home last night let alone what she'd done at the party. She just hoped it wasn't too scandalous. Maybe she had slept with Malfoy and had done it in front of everyone like a skank. Gods, what would her friends think? What would her colleagues think? No one would ever take her seriously ever again!

She found Padma's handwriting in a rather unusually large envelope, which peaked her curiosity – or whatever of it the alcohol had left behind. Padma never deigned to send letters, let alone long letters. She was quite a brusque, upfront person, quite the opposite of Ginny.

_Hermione, _

_I really hope you're doing well, especially after what I have to tell you. I'm sorry, there was nothing I could do about this. Witch Weekly, The Quibbler, London Times, and just about every gossip column is going to be publishing it, so I wanted you to see it first from me. _

_I'm sorry I couldn't contain the fiasco, but this will be better for you. You're prepared. Hold your head high and you can deny the allegations. Whatever you do, DO NOT RESPOND TO ANY OWLS! _

_Padma _

Hermione was on the verge of panic. Whatever had happened, whatever it was that she'd done was so big that all of Wizarding Britain was going to be talking about it. Her heart began to pound and she almost threw up, but she had more important matters to attend to. Like opening the package of papers that had accompanied Padma's letter. But hell, she didn't want to. No, she just wanted to go to sleep. She just wanted to...

She pulled the envelope apart, ripping half of it in her haste, only to find what was clearly this evening's Prophet. Or what was _going _to be this evening's prophet. Padma had sent her the unpublished copy! Hermione knew what this meant. Whatever it was, it was serious, because Padma would never jeopardize her job like this unless it was really, really, _really _important.

Flipping the pages with shaking fingers, Hermione stopped dead on page 6, the society column: _MALFOY SEEN WITH CARMEN MARTINEZ AFTER EXTRAVAGANZA. _

The page was plastered with pictures of him with this _girl. _A very breathtakingly gorgeous girl she'd always seen in the society columns. As far as she knew, Carmen was the daughter of some rich man who sat on the Wizengamot, and Ginny was always complaining about how she got far too much undue attention. Apparently, according to Ginny, Carmen was a "bint with a long list of boyfriends".

And now she was with Draco apparently.

There were pictures of them heading into restaurants, her coming to meet him at work, him outside Carmen's apartment, them walking down the street _kissing, _holding hands, and doing things couples were seen doing. It made her want to gag. It made her rather angry, too, if she really thought about it, but she was too shaken to really acknowledge that emotion.

The article wasn't of much use. It just talked about: _Malfoy's new love interest... _blah blah blah_... dating the infamous Carmen Martinez... _blah blah blah_... _Nonsense and such. It wasn't that Hermione wasn't angry and feeling betrayed, because she was. Of course she was! Hell, if she could see straight, she'd have gone and found Malfoy to slap him. What she didn't understand was why Padma would think this was of the utmost importance.

That was until she realized there was more in the envelope. A lot more than she was bargaining for. Three times more, to be exact. Padma had somehow managed to get the unpublished copies of the week's Witch Weekly, The Quibbler, and The London Times – which circulated throughout the UK. She was on the cover of all three of them, paired with pictures of Malfoy and Carmen.

_Granger vs. Martinez: Frumpy vs. Glamorous? _

_Malfoy leaves Granger for Socialite. _

_Granger Spurned: Malfoy's new love interest. _

Out of all of them, Witch Weekly was the harshest, claiming that she could hardly hold a man to her, let alone someone like Draco Malfoy – who was apparently esteemed. Since when, she didn't know. Why? Why would they write something like that? With every word she read, her despair grew. They criticized her, from her oversized hair, to her oversized clothes. Like such things mattered _that _much.

The rest of the mail was similar, all from news reporters asking for confirmations for the stories she had just read, concerned people offering her condolences, and friends asking her what the hell had happened. She didn't know what to do. She didn't really _want _to do anything. So, she followed Padma's advice and ripped up every single letter into tiny little squares before setting them on fire one by one with her wand.

The worst part of this entire ordeal had to be the fact that in every single picture that he was with Carmen, she was sure he'd come to see her just hours later. He had been wooing her while seeing this woman, leaving her presents, and telling her things he obviously had no right to tell. She loathed him for it. She wanted him to burn in hell. Maybe, she wanted to burn with him.

Then, Hermione cried. And then, Hermione wanted to die. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair in the least. How could this have happened to her? How could Malfoy do something like this to her?

Not that it helped that Carmen Martinez was a fucking bombshell. Hermione could hardly compete with someone like that. Hermione could hardly compete with _anyone, _let alone a socialite! She wanted to tear her hair out for being so stupid, for actually thinking that...

Thinking that she actually _knew _him.

/

_There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that she absolutely should not drink another glass of firewhisky, but she did it anyway. Why? Well, she wasn't entirely sure. Perhaps it was because she was in the Malfoy Manor, somewhere where she hadn't thought she'd ever set foot in again. Perhaps it was because butterflies were floating in her stomach and she just hoped that alcohol would calm her nerves. Perhaps it was because Draco looked rather charming, even if he was talking to another woman and not to her. _

_But he was the host, after all, and this was his party. He had to... play host, she supposed. Whatever it was that good host people did, he had to do. So, she didn't mind. In fact, she could wait patiently all night. The only problem with that was, the alcohol was freely flowing around and she couldn't stop herself from taking sip after sip. _

_It was only until she became insanely lightheaded that she thought it was probably a good idea to stop. But even then, as the world began to tilt on an angle and spin around her, she kept a firm grip on her glass just in case she should need a little bit more liquid courage. _

_She wasn't quite sure what was going on anymore. There were people everywhere in all sorts of colours and styles. Hell, she was rather sure she'd seen a woman earlier with huge tufts of orange feathers glued to her dress. Why would a woman want to glue orange feathers onto her clothes? In fact, a lot of the women here were dressed just odd. Not even nicely odd. Just __odd__._

_In comparison, Hermione felt almost beautiful, thanks to Ginny's masterful manipulations that had taken pretty much six hours. Six hours! But now that she was here, she thought perhaps it was worth it. If Draco would just stare at her for more than a glance and appreciate it, perhaps Hermione would write it off as "worth it". _

_But then, she couldn't quite see Draco amongst the throngs of people jostling her to and fro. He had disappeared. Perhaps he had gone to mingle with different people, or perhaps he had gone upstairs with the woman. Hermione shuddered. She didn't even know why she shuddered because she wasn't cold at all. In fact, she was quite warm! _

_Just as she was about to shrug her silk wrap off her shoulders, someone pushed it right back on. Their fingers linger on the back of her neck and she swore they might have stroked her as well! Turning around she found none other than her ex-boyfriend staring at her with unmistakeable longing. Not that she could tell. Everything was mistakable to her. She was drunk, after all. _

"_What are __you__ doing here?" she asked, her speech a little bit slurred. She had the afterthought to poke him in the chest. "Ow! Why are you so hard over here!" Then, she began to nurse her poor little injured finger, completely forgetting that Ronald Weasley was even standing before her. _

"_I __came to find you," Ron muttered, nearly in her ear. That made her jump, for she had not expected him to be that close, nor whisper anything in her ear. Why would he have done that? She had half a mind to smack him for being so odd. But at least he didn't have orange feathers sticking off his clothes. She supposed she could tolerate him until Draco came to find her. "I came to take you home, Hermione." _

"_Bah! I shan't be going home," she declared, though her voice was so airy that her declaration held no force. "Now be gone! I'm looking for prince charming." _

"_Who?" Ron asked, clearly confused. _

"_Prince Charming, silly," she said with a grin, not quite staring Ron straight in the eye. He was quite tall, after all, and she couldn't really lift her head up to make eye contact. Why, she might have floated away if she'd even attempted. "He has a horse, and a sword, and jewels, and-"_

"_You're drunk, Hermione," Ron observed. The bastard seemed amused! Why anyone would be amused at her predicament was just incomprehensible. "Come on, love, let me take you home." _

_But she ignored Ron, for she'd found her Prince Charming. _

_Draco had been staring at her from across the room, an inscrutable expression on his face. She didn't understand why he wasn't smiling. Was he not pleased that she'd dolled herself up for him? He had yet to say hi to her and was occasionally muttered something to the girl next to him. It was the same girl from earlier, Hermione noted. Perhaps she worked for Draco. Perhaps she was his secretary. _

_Ignoring Ron and escaping from the hands that he'd attempted to place on her shoulders, she made her way across the crowd of people towards Draco. He just stood there and watched. The decent thing to do would have been to come and meet her halfway, at the very least. He should have swept her off her feet. But she supposed that this was the twenty first century, and that she could probably be his prince Charming. Or Princess charming? _

_There was no time to contemplate the conundrum, for she was before him and he was now before her. She didn't know what to say. In fact, she couldn't think at all. He smelled like cologne and something rather warm and spicy. She adored it. In fact, she wanted to breathe it in. But she knew he was probably all against sniffing and all things similar, so she just stared at him and smiled. _

_So instead, she said the only thing she could have said. "Hello!" _

_The smile on his face was dazzling. "Hello," he greeted back. _

_She didn't need to say anything anymore. He took her by the hand and led her back into the scores of people around them. And then, they danced. She wasn't sure how long they did, but it was long enough to make her head spin. Somehow, she didn't fall over, but it was probably because of his hands steadying her. No one seemed to take any notice of them, even though they were so very important. He was Prince Charming after all, and she was his Princess. _

/

Someone was knocking on her door, calling her name.

It was only then that she realized that she was sitting in front of an open window, in a towel with wet hair, crying her eyes out. A look in the mirror told her she still looked like a fright – all pale and dead looking. Who cared, anyhow? She might as well accept the fact that she was an ugly duckling. There was no way anyone would like her after seeing her compared with someone as beautiful as Carmen Martinez.

That someone knocking on her door was Draco Malfoy.

Several things happened at once. Her headache intensified to a thunderous level, her mouth dried up, and she began to shake. The bastard honestly had dared to confront her after what he'd done to her? Wasn't public humiliation _enough? _What more could he honestly expect from her, now that he'd achieved what he'd probably been here for all along? Her destruction.

"What do you _want?" _she hissed after he'd called her name for the millionth time. "What the hell could you possibly _want?_" He stopped knocking on her door and the silence was blissful, even if it only lasted for a second.

"I want to come inside," he said quietly.

"You want to come inside!" Hermione shrieked, nearly hysterical. Well, alright. She was fully hysterical. "Why don't you go inside your precious _Carmen's _flat, hm? She seems more than willing to have you."

"Don't be ridiculous, Granger-"

"_Don't _call me ridiculous, don't you _dare _call me anything!" she yelled now. Who the hell did he think he was, coming here all high and mighty? Well he could shove it right back where it came from, because she was done with him, she realized. She had known it when she'd read the papers that were probably now circulating all throughout Britain, but now she was certain of it. Draco Malfoy had no place in her life. "Get out of here, Malfoy."

"I'm not going _anywhere! _Now, open this door!"

"_No!_ Don't you fucking tell me what to do-"

"You owe me this much, you ungrateful witch! You owe it to me after you left me outside your flat _thrashing _that night and after disappearing with Weasel-"

But she didn't let him finish. She didn't even hear anything else after _thrashing. _"Leave you? _Leave you? _I didn't leave you, you fucking prick! I stayed with you, even after you hit me in the head, you slimy fucking pig!" He didn't say anything and she was glad for it, because she was out of breath and probably couldn't shout over him. "You were the one that told me to leave. You shouted so loud that I _had _to, you hear? You _made _me go."

Draco was shocked to say the least and she was glad for it. He deserved it after shocking her. He deserved everything after what he'd done to her. Hermione Granger was a lot of unsavoury things, but she had prided herself on not being a fool. What Draco had done to her was irreparable. What Draco had done was to break her identity.

"That can't be," he said, nearly after a minute. "It can't. I was alone-"

"You were alone because you wanted to be," she said, quietly. He didn't stop her from speaking and she didn't have the energy to raise her voice any longer. It all worked out in the end. "Hell, what choice did I have after you nearly broke my fucking wrist?" And he had. She had ignored it, but he had.

He didn't say anything more after that and she didn't want to hear anything anymore anyway. He didn't deserve any explanations from her as far as she was concerned. She hadn't done anything but behave reasonably with him and he'd...he'd twisted a knife behind her back.

"I'm sorry," he said so quietly, she barely heard it.

"Leave," she responded simply.

It wasn't that he'd gone around with other women. She wasn't stupid. He was a man and men did such things. It was that he'd _lied, _lied and told her that she was going to be the only one – or at least, made it seem that way. If he had been honest... well, if he had been honest, she didn't know what she would've done, but it would've been better than this. Better than being made a fool in front of her entire world. It was the betrayal that stung. Hell, she should've even seen it coming. Someone should've warned her of how stupidly she'd been behaving.

"Hermione..." he called to her weakly.

"_Leave," _she hissed. She wanted him to fell like how he'd made _her _feel that night when he'd told her to leave. He deserved it. He deserved this.

"Look, just let me explain, I-"

"_Leave_!" she shouted when he wouldn't listen to her. "I don't want to see your face here ever again, and I swear if I do, I will apply for a restraining order!"

She knew the moment the words fell out of her mouth that she'd regret it. After all, she was human, and her heart wouldn't just harden itself in the span of a few hours. She had honestly liked him and couldn't help but liking him now. But it was for the best. The person she had liked – wanted – he wasn't real. He was just some man in a dream that she used to know.

Malfoy didn't object. Hell, he didn't even try to apologize again like he really should've done if he had a decent bone in his body. This only further proved to Hermione how twisted he must really be. He was the kind of person that only chewed people up and spit them out. Nothing more, nothing less. She should've seen it coming. She _had _seen it coming in the starting, when she'd doubted him, before he'd trapped her with all his charms.

When he really was on the other side.

But now Malfoy was nowhere. He wasn't in her head, in her heart, wasn't even on the other side of her door. Yeah, his picture was next to hers in every important news publication in Wizarding Britain, but what did that matter when it was all against her because he'd betrayed her? Hermione was ashamed for caring. Hermione hated herself for even crying.

And cry she did. She sobbed and sobbed, emptied her soul into the carpet until even her hair was dry and the towel covering her was no longer damp. She wept for all of her friends she had spurned because of Malfoy, she cried for her ruined reputation, and the life she was now going to have to live. She even cried a little bit for Malfoy. Or a whole lot.

When Padma and Ginny knocked softly on her door, she let them in and let them take care of her. Then, she cried a whole lot more.

Eventually, she slept.

But even then, the sun had to rise, and she had to resume crying once more.

/

_Draco sighed. It was far too hot in here and he was just about to break into a sweat. Blaise was nowhere to be found, Carmen refused to go home even though she knew Granger was around, and fuck would people not leave him alone. He got it. He was popular and all that shit, but fuck! People really ought to mind their own business or something. _

_And all the important people were drunk, so of course no networking was to be done tonight. Blaise wouldn't be happy with that development. No, of course he wouldn't. Blaise wasn't happy with any development. Blaise could just go kiss his –_

_What was the Weasel doing here? _

_At first, Draco thought that he must've been seeing things, a trick of the light perhaps. But when he squinted and stared, he saw Weasel talking to Granger. __His __Granger. Who had let the filth in, anyhow? There was absolutely no way his name was on the guest list, unless... Damn the she-Weasel! Ah, if he saw her, he'd knock some bloody sense into her! _

_But there was no time for that, because Weasel was touching his Granger. The Weasel had the audacity to touch his Granger! Draco felt his heart pound when Hermione turned around and seemed just as surprised as he felt. She poked the Weasel in the chest and then clutched her finger like a wounded child. For some reason, that made Draco laugh. Until Weasel touched his Granger again. _

_Then he was ready to march over there and punch the fucker's filthy freckled face. _

_But it was unnecessary, because Granger had spotted him. And before long, she was making her way towards him, quite slowly and unsteadily, but towards him nonetheless. He couldn't move because he realized what had just happened. She'd left Weasel for him. For him! That gave him a shot, didn't it? That said something about what she preferred, didn't it? __Didn't it? _

_There wasn't any time to contemplate that conundrum though, because she was standing right before him and staring at him expectantly. Well, damn if he knew what she wanted – besides alcohol, because she looked bloody drunk. Smelled like it too. Had she spilled it all over herself or was that all just her breath? She was swaying in front of him and he wondered whether he ought to reach out and steady her lest she fall over. _

_Then randomly, as if just realizing he was there, she grinned and nearly shouted, "Hello!" _

_He couldn't help but grin at her enthusiasm. "Hello."_

_He realized that Carmen was behind him, staring daggers into his back, but he didn't care. She could go back to where she'd come from. He took Granger by the wrist and dragged her forward into the crowd of dancing bodies. Then, he steadied her with his hands on her hips, because she really was falling over. _

_She leaned into him and they moved slowly, even though it was a fast paced song. Draco didn't care though, because this was the best moment of his life. This was the moment that he'd been waiting for forever. The girl he'd wanted since... well... he couldn't remember since when, but she was all pressed up against him, even if she __was __drunk. That hardly mattered now, when he could feel her against him. _

_He thought he might faint if they moved any faster. But they didn't have to. They could just stay like that all night. She was muttering nonsensical things about spicy smells and things that looked like pools of ice – whatever the fuck that meant, but he didn't need to pay attention. Not now that he could actually touch her. _

_And touch her he did. _

_Everything he did was all light and barely noticeable, but every inch of her clothed skin that his hands made contact with made his blood boil. Hell, he was rather sure that she could feel his heart pounding madly in his chest, she was pressed that close. And still, she wasn't close enough. All he wanted to do pull her closer into his arms and hold her like that all night. He just wanted... _

_She lifted her chin and pressed her lips against his, rendering him speechless. Every thought in his mind halted to a standstill and he thought he must have lost himself. Then, slowly, every nerve in his body began to pulse, thrum to the beat of his heart, and explode. He must've seen white lights so bright that he could see stars behind his lids every time he blinked. _

_And then, it was over sooner than it had begun, for Hermione Granger was thoroughly wasted and her attention just simply could not be held. _

"_Oh my God, Draco!" she nearly shrieked in his ear, but he was too shell shocked to even cringe. "Oh my __God!" _

"_What?" he asked, weakly, but she didn't seem to notice the effect she had on him. "What happened?" _

"_There's __chocolate__ over there!" she exclaimed._

_And she was off in search of the mysterious chocolate before he could even stop her. He must have stood there forever, contemplating what had happened. He didn't understand, but didn't need to. With his fingers pressed to his lips, he turned and made his way out of the room for some air, not noticing while he left that Carmen Martinez was glaring at his back all the way. _

_By the time Carmen approached a reporter from Witch Weekly, Draco was long gone. He couldn't have stopped her from doing the inevitable, even if he'd tried. _

/

Draco was lightheaded, so much so that his vision was swimming before him. It was probably because he could barely breathe. The simple action of inhaling and exhaling was too difficult to engage in. How could he will his lungs to work when his heart would not beat? No, his heart could not beat, because he'd left it behind somewhere. Where?

Where was he going?

It took him a minute to realize he was still in Granger's stairwell, paused on the landing. The realization left him winded. He ought not to be here, even though his body told him to go back to Granger's doorstep. He had to go tell her what was going on. He had to go clarify or something. Hell, he could fix it. He was sure he could fix it if he could just make himself move.

But that was the problem. He could neither make his body go back to where he belonged, nor forward where Hermione wanted him to go and never come back. She had threatened him. A restrainingorder. Who did she think she was, threatening him? _A Restraining order! _It wasn't as if he'd done anything to hurt her, really. He hadn't done any of those things, none at all. Someone was just...conspiring against him.

And now, the very thing he'd feared from the start had come to pass. He was going to have to spend the rest of his days in agony. Agony! For his body was never ever going to want anyone else but Granger. And Granger didn't want him. Granger didn't ever want to see him again. She wanted him to leave so she could be with the fucking Weasel. Yeah, she'd made her choice perfectly clear, especially the night before. She'd always wanted the Weasel.

The thought gave him the energy to take one step forward, and eventually another until he'd finally exited the building. There was no way he'd ever learn how to breathe again because he knew that this was his last time exiting this particular building. The realization made his heart twinge. Would he ever be able to think normally again now that his reason for thinking had abandoned him? He was never going to be normal. Never, ever again.

Someone grasped his arm as he walked aimlessly down the street. At first, he didn't even realize someone was steering him into an alleyway. He probably wouldn't have noticed at all, except side along Apparation wasn't exactly something one could ignore, even if they _were _in a stupor. The sensation left him retching and angry.

Until he noticed it was Carmen that had come to find him.

For a moment, he was thankful. At least there was this. At the very least the fates had left him this much, someone who would come and find him, even if that someone was a halfwit. He could say a lot about Carmen. Yeah, she was great in bed and she seemed to care about him. But she was dull. She wasn't _special. _In full, she was nothing like Hermione Granger.

And what did anything matter if you weren't like Hermione Granger? It was a death sentence in his book. Sure, he'd slept with her that one time, and she'd refused to leave him alone since then... But that didn't mean anything. Everyone knew that. He was Draco fucking Malfoy, after all. But perhaps she hadn't gotten the memo. Perhaps she really was dim witted.

She approached him, caressing his shoulders. "It's alright, Drake," she whispered, using that annoying pet name she just wouldn't give up on, despite the fact that he'd yelled at her for it several times. "It'll be alright."

"No, it won't," he muttered, correcting her. But she just ignored him like she was in the habit of doing. He didn't know whether she did it on purpose or whether she was just deaf half of the time, but it was rather annoying. "It'll never be _alright._"

She caressed his back, his shoulders, and his neck, like such actions would make up for what had transpired. He wasn't sure why she was here with him anyway. Perhaps she wanted to comfort him. And why would he deny her that? He was tired and sore. Desperately in need of comfort by anyone's standards. If it should come from a source other than the one he desired, so what? He would have to be accepting of it from now on. He was never going to have what he wanted, so he ought to just adjust and move on.

That was what she'd wanted, after all, when she'd shoved him away so cruelly.

_Rejection Number 3477. _

Lost in his thoughts as he was, he barely noticed Carmen undoing his shirt and pushing it off of his shoulders, caressing the skin as she went. She had been so deft and skilled at being silent that he was still staring out the window when she was already half naked. It was only when she began to stroke him through his trousers that he started and pushed her away.

"What are you doing?" he asked, just a little too harshly in her opinion. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I'm _just _trying to make you feel better, Drake," she said in that no-nonsense attitude of hers. He rolled his eyes and snatched his shirt off the floor, only to have her tug it out of his hands. She pushed him down into a chair. "Why don't you just relax? This will feel good-"

"No," he cut her off, dismissing her with a wave. It only took a second to gather his things again. His mind had never felt so clouded in his life, but he knew what was going on. It wasn't going to happen. Not now. Not for a very long time. "I have to go..."

"_Go? _You're going to _leave _when we finally get to be together?" She huffed, quite like a child would. "After everything I had to go through to get us here?"

That gave him pause. "You talked to the reporters."

She didn't deny it. She didn't even have the decency to lie to him like anyone else with half a brain would. No, she just stood there, stared at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Of _course _she'd talked to the reporters. Who else would have? No one else was interested in stalking him and no one in their right minds would ever publish anything like that about a war hero without being bribed first. And Carmen had the money. Carmen had the motive. Carmen wasn't denying it.

"_Why? _Have you gone absolutely fucking _insane?" _he hissed, advancing upon her. She didn't seem afraid of him and that just pissed him off all the more. He grabbed her by the shoulders to shake her roughly. "What the fuck have you _done?" _

"I've solved your bloody problem!" she retorted, pushing him away. "And if you're going to be so fucking ungrateful about it, then fine! You'll thank me tomorrow."

And with that, she stalked out of the room as if she were some kind of princess. He had half a mind to chase after her and beat some sense into her with a stick. But she was probably so twisted, she'd enjoy something like that.

She'd have thought she'd won.

/

_Every bone in Draco's body shook like mad. He had so much energy, it was ridiculous. People approached him to greet him and he didn't even get annoyed because he was that happy. People danced around him, offered him flutes of champagne, kissed his cheeks and groped inappropriately, but he couldn't even find it in himself to be angry. _

_All because Granger had given him a barely there kiss whilst inebriated. _

_Regardless, it was enough to keep Draco going for hours. It was better than food, knowing that Granger must somehow want him, even if it was because she was drunk and that she'd probably regret it in the morning. He wasn't even annoyed that she was like everyone else anymore. He was just happy that she was here and that she was here because of him. _

_It really was alright and would be fantastic, if only he could find her. He'd seen glimpses of her making a mess of herself in her inebriated state. She'd attempted to swim in the pool of chocolate, had attempted to hog the entire bar to herself, had even attempted to dance with a very old man who used a cane to support his weight. That last endeavor had really not gone well. _

_Before he could approach her, she'd always disappear like a breath of air. He didn't know how she managed it, but he supposed the place was too crowded to give it too much thought. She couldn't be avoiding him on purpose, could she? After all, __she __had kissed __him. _

_It was a little after one in the morning when he spotted her on the stairs with Weasel. _

_He'd seen the she-Weasel leaving earlier and hadn't had the heart to yell at her for letting the Weasel come with her. But now he regretted it. Hell, he ought to have gone to the witch and told her to get her godforsaken brother out of his Manor! She of all people ought to know why the bastard ought not to be here, especially on a night such as this. On a night where his ex-girlfriend had kissed Draco Malfoy. _

_Hermione didn't see him and the Weasel didn't even glance in his direction. Weasel was holding his Granger up, as if she were too drunk to stand on her own. That was __his __job, the Weasley should've known that. But Weasley held her anyway, way too close for comfort. Hermione would've swatted his hands away if she'd not been so drunk. _

_As it was, she let him lead her outside, all the while as he touched and caressed her skin. Draco thought he might even puke at the sight. Fucking hell, he wasn't going to stand around while __his __Granger was molested! But before he could run after them, someone grasped his shoulder roughly. Whirling around to yell at the intruder, Draco found Blaise muttering incomprehensibly next to him. _

"_What!" he urged. "What do you want?" _

"_We have a problem," Blaise was whispering. Why was he whispering? "You need to come and help me with this..." _

"_Not now! I'm rather busy," Draco responded, waving Blaise away. As Draco moved to rush after Hermione and the Weasel, Blaise looked shell shocked. Hell, he even looked stricken. Draco was far too gone to notice such insignificant details._

_Draco ran out the front doors of the Manor that had been left wide open for the convenience of his guests. He ran around the grounds to catch a glimpse of his Granger, wherever it was that Weasley had taken her away too, but he wasn't lucky. They had already gone, apparently. Weasley had kidnapped her and she'd left. _

_She'd kissed him and then she'd left with her ex-boyfriend. _

/

Draco was dizzy. He didn't know _what _to do now. Hermione actually thought that everything those fucking papers had published were real. The evening papers had their pictures plastered over them and owls pestered him wherever he went, attempting to get him to respond to their masters' requests to provide confirmations for their bullshit stories.

She honestly thought he'd been cavorting with a halfwit. Like he'd actually spend more than a night with someone like Carmen Martinez out of his own free will. She was too lanky, too breakable, and with a head far too demented to even stand. It wouldn't take too long for anyone to figure out all those pictures had been doctored. Who would believe that he'd ever gone anywhere with Carmen Martinez?

Oh, right. Everyone or anyone that read newspapers.

_Fuck_.

So Draco did what he'd always done in times of trouble and distress. He apparated to Malfoy Industries in search of Blaise, the one person who would probably know what to do. And failing that, the PR fellow. He seemed rather knowledgeable on stuff relating to the media. If Blaise was useless, Draco could just pay someone to deal with the problem.

That gave him a little bit of courage as he walked through the offices. This all could be solved. If there was anything that could be done to salvage the situation, they could do it. After all, there was nothing more invincible than them. No one could get past them, right?

He found Blaise in his office, just like he knew he would.

"Blaise," he greeted. He only got a grunt in return, but that was normal. Blaise was always against people interrupting his workday, especially if those people were named Draco Malfoy. "I need your help. This slag named Carmen has ruined my life!"

"Has she now."

"Yes! Indeed, she has," he continued, oblivious to everything around him. He didn't notice the disarray of papers that Blaise was packing into boxes, nor that everything in the office had been taken down from their walls. Instead, he just rambled, which was the only thing he'd properly inherited from spending time with Hermione. "She's gone and made everyone think Hermione's all... frumpy. It's a fiasco. You have to help me."

But Blaise ignored him. Blaise barely even looked up to acknowledge him. Draco stared at him expectantly, but nothing came. All Blaise did was pack.

"What in the world are you _doing, _mate?" Draco finally snapped.

"Packing," he replied simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Which, in retrospect, it probably was. "Like I said I would. And now the time has come."

"Well, what the hell is going on, then?" Blaise continued to pack as if he _hadn't _just thrown Draco in for a loop. Of course he'd just do that. Of course he'd just create a scene and then not offer any more explanations until Draco practically begged for it. Draco wasn't in the mood for such nonsense. Not now after so much had happened. "Come on, then, spit it out!"

"Well, we didn't get enough investors last night. So, as promised, I'm leaving." Blaise's voice was so even and measured, one would have thought that he'd rehearsed the short speech. Draco wondered if Blaise even cared that he was about to have a heart attack. For the second time that day, all the breath left his body. "Of course, you wouldn't remember me telling you that, would you? No, you were too busy stalking Granger."

"I don't..."

"No, that's the problem. You _don't. _You don't do anything beyond what suits you. But that's your problem now, not mine." He began to levitate the boxes. "If you need help with negotiations when you finally sell the company, I'll be more than happy to help-"

"I've already told you," Draco cut him off, impatiently. "We are _not _selling this place! What's wrong with you? Have you lost your fucking mind?"

"Have I lost my mind!" Blaise finally yelled, dropping his calm facade. His voice was so loud, it hurt Draco's ears. Somewhere within him, he realized he'd finally cracked his friend and the damage was probably irreparable. "Yes, I've fucking lost my mind! I've worked here for eleven fucking years, and don't you bloody forget it!"

"So then why are you leaving?" Draco accused. "Why are you running instead of fixing the problem?"

"It's not my problem anymore, Draco Malfoy," Blaise hissed, glaring daggers at him that he almost cringed. Almost. "I'm done picking up after your mistakes, alright? I'm done now and I'm going to be leaving as soon as I'm done packing my things, so you sure as hell can deal with your mess yourself. You did this. Now you can reap the consequences."

At first, Draco could barely move, his body withering from inside and out. Blaise was probably right. Blaise usually was right about most things and Draco couldn't see why he'd be wrong about something like this. This was all his fault. Hermione was gone. Carmen had ruined his life. His company was falling, and now Blaise was leaving him too.

In essence, everything he'd ever cared about had been snatched away from him in the span of a few short hours. Instead of apologizing, instead of salvaging the situation like anyone with sense would have, Draco crumbled. He retaliated where he should've begged for forgiveness. He lashed out when he should've been offering compensation.

"Well, _fine _then!" he shouted to Blaise. "Leave! See if I fucking care. I don't need you, anyway!"

Blaise paused, if only for a second. The look in his eyes was odd, as if they had softened for a second. Draco thought he'd almost imagined it. But what he could not imagine was the look of extreme pity that his friend of many years gave him. It was so intense that Draco actually _did _cringe, hoping he could somehow take back those words.

But he couldn't because it was done.

"Congratulations, Draco," Blaise said softly. "Congratulations."

And then Blaise was gone.

**A/N: Do let me know what you thought! Did you hate it or did you love it? Are you annoyed with it all yet? Only five more chapters left to go! Here's a spoiler for the next chapter: **

_**I wish it mattered, **_

_**H.G. **_

**UNSIGNED REVIEWS: **

**Kimm Possible: **I shall leave this for you here, since your private messaging is disabled. If you're still reading this, I suppose you already know the answer to your question. ;)

**Jane2325: **Your private messaging is disabled, so I shall leave this for you here! I hope you get the opportunity to see this, because I would like to thank you for your most appreciated compliment. Have a nice week!

**Buttercup: **Thank you for the review, your insight, and your support. :) You're entirely too kind. I always do enjoy hearing from you, especially because it was your prompt that got me writing this immensely difficult story to begin with. So, I say thank you again! And I do hope you enjoyed this, even though the change might not be... particularly enjoyable.


	12. No one's Gonna Love you

A/N: So I've finally updated. Don't be upset with me, please. This was incredibly hard to write. I won't ramble here except to say thank you to all of you who put up with the delays in this story. It's not intentional, I swear. This story is just a pain in the arse to write. Bu no worries. ONLY FOUR MOUR CHAPTERS TO GO.

This chapter is dedicated to HarryPGinnyW4eva for being the sweetest person ever and a special thank you to DZAuthor AKA DZMom for the stimulating conversation.

And of course, a thank you to my reviewers: . com, TwinzLover, PrettyChelsea, Ms. Louis Cordice Zabini, DZAuthor AKA DZMom, Vaneesa85, reader204, megs100, IaTeYoUrMuFInx, walkingby521, glitterboden, sweet-tang-honney, HermioneDraco368, Venetiangrl92, Angel, HarryPGinnyW4eva, Jadepowell, Mondo89, Khoes, Aristocratic Assassin, and Musette Fujiwara.

_**Song Selection for this chapter: No one's Gonna Love you **_

**Chapter Twelve: No One's Gonna Love You **

It only took Draco three days to realize he didn't have the ability to suffer the agony he had gotten himself into. His body ached, his head felt like it was about to split open on a constant basis, and he had already vomited more times than he could possibly count. It was an easy decision, then, to return to Granger. It didn't matter that she didn't want him. He wanted her and that was going to have to be enough.

At least, that was what he had convinced himself of before he had appeared in front of her building.

Even the sight of the rather small sized apartment building he had been frequenting for the past few months now gave him chills. So many memories had been created in this very building, granted most of the memorable ones were negative, but they were memories nonetheless. He didn't really know when he'd begun cherishing his time here. Three days seemed to be far too long away.

And yet, he knew he ought not to be here. He knew it in his very bones that he should just turn around and walk away. Screw feeling sicker than hell. He could get over the sickness, but Hermione might not be able to get over the fact that he was here. What if she actually got a restraining order because he was considering going upstairs? What if she actually followed through with her threat?

That would surely be the end of his existence, for he could not survive without being in her vicinity. She had to understand that. She probably knew it already. But, of course, maybe that was too much to ask for, for her to care if he felt like he was about to keel over and die multiple times a day.

He knew she was a bookworm, always had been. So she'd have probably researched his predicament as well as she could have given the circumstances. For godsakes, didn't she work in the department that dealt with all magical creatures at the Ministry? Yeah, she'd have known that he was suffering, of all the aversive physical reactions he had to deal with daily. He must have hurt her worse than he had imagined if she knew all that and was still letting him feel like this.

The realization only made Draco feel all the worse and he made himself walk away from the building.

It didn't matter, though. He was back not even an hour later, feeling more wretched than he had ever felt in his entire life. It was mostly because he had no control of himself or his actions. He couldn't have stayed away, couldn't have left her now, even if he wanted to. Not that he wanted to. Come on, he was practically obsessed with her. But it was probably best that he just not engage in any kind of contact with her whatsoever.

Unfortunately, his body was having none of it. Eventually, the pain in his head had become so great that he'd _had _to go up the stairs and in front of her annoying fucking apartment door. There had been absolutely no choice in the matter. The veela urges in his body had been accustomed to having daily contact with her, so apparently, not having contact with her wasn't an option anymore.

At least, it wasn't going to be an option until he could finally gain control of himself. Or until he learned how to endure massive amounts of pain. Like that was ever going to happen. This shit was worse than the cruciatus! And he'd had more than his fair share of _those _during the war. Hell, even the Dark Lord had had his fun once.

The memory only made him want to wretch and that wasn't an option here.

By the time he'd reached her front door, he was winded and panting. There was absolutely no more energy left in his body, so he slumped against the wall like he had become accustomed to doing. He didn't feel any better, though, not like he should have felt. His body still ached and he was starting to feel feverish – which was a new symptom really. Maybe he was coming down with something.

The thought made him laugh. Fucking brilliant. That would be just fantastic. Of course the world, God, Merlin – whoever the fuck was running things up there, wherever _there_ was – would do that to him. Let's just pick on Draco, shall we? It was rain bad luck onto Draco day, after all. Draco wanted to shout a huge _fuck you _at the lot of them, but settled for a mental image of a fiery pit of burning hell, instead. He wouldn't want the first thing Granger heard from him to be fuck you. That would just be obscene.

Not that he didn't want to fuck her. Of course he did.

Shaking his head clear of the ridiculous thoughts, he weakly knocked on the door. It didn't matter how quiet the pathetic attempt was, she'd have heard it. She would've heard him coming upstairs like a mountain troll as she always did. In fact, she was always here anticipating his arrival before he'd even deigned to show up from his godforsaken job.

"Granger," he called out to her pathetically, wishing he could just die right here and now. "Granger, please."

But she didn't respond. Of course she wouldn't respond, she was mad at him. Madder than anyone else would ever be, probably, because no one else really cared anymore. He didn't have parents to belittle him anymore, and Blaise had gone MIA a while ago. So there was this and this was all he had. Granger had to understand that. He'd stick with her. That was all he knew how to do these days.

"Granger, come on!" When no response came, he groaned. What did she want him to do, beg? "I'm sorry, okay? Even though I didn't do anything like you're thinking, I'm bloody sorry!"

But still, there was nothing, and that just left him feeling broken hearted. He had half a mind to just sit there for the next five years and sob. What else was there to do, anyway? Blaise wasn't coming back and his father's company – now _his _company – was going to fail and be sold anyways. To be honest, that had been a doomed venture from the start. So what was the point of even getting up in the morning? He was going to sleep here forever. He wouldn't even move anywhere except to go to the loo and buy alcohol.

Yeah, firewhisky would really solve his problems right about now.

Draco took a shuddering breath, and that really calmed him, so he took another. It wasn't really surprising that he'd forgotten to breathe out of all important things to forget. But maybe it hadn't really been done on purpose. Maybe he just didn't feel like breathing anymore. Was that so bad? Was it so bad that he didn't feel like he was worth anything but trash?

It was all Granger's fault anyway, that he was feeling like this. Just like it was probably his fault she wasn't talking to him.

"Granger, I'm dying out here. Don't you care anymore?" Silence. Always that fucking silence. It was as if they'd travelled back in time to the beginning of their fucked up relationship. "I knew it! You're just like everybody fucking else. But what else could I expect from someone like you?"

He shuddered when she _still _didn't say anything. Usually, shit like that would rile her up and she'd yell something back at him in return. But now he'd apparently hurt her bad enough that she really did want anything to do with him. Or perhaps she really had applied for that restraining order after all and she couldn't hear him. And he couldn't hear her.

"Granger," he whispered. Tears welled up in his eyes. "What have you fucking _done?" _

"She's not actually there, you know," came a voice after a minute, somewhere from across the hallway.

To say Draco was startled would not be enough. Hell, he actually shrieked like a school girl, bolting straight upright and banging his elbow against the wall in the process. His knees cracked in effort, his eyes watered from the sudden pain, and he couldn't help but swear under his breath. His heart refused to stop pounding, even though he had already confirmed that it was only an old lady standing in front of him.

"You must be the fellow that's been creating the ruckus all these weeks," she noted. Her voice was even and she didn't look irritated, but Draco felt his face redden nonetheless. She didn't seem to notice. "Well, come on then! Don't just stand there looking like a fool!" And with that she was off, back towards what was probably her flat.

He stared after he slowly retreating figure, his mouth slightly open. He wasn't sure what was going on, or who this lady was, but he hurried to catch up to her regardless. He wasn't sure _why _he was going to the lady's home – hell, she might've even been a serial killer, who knew? – but she hadn't left any room for a polite rejection.

The moment he stepped over the threshold, he was assaulted by warm air and a wafting aroma of cookies. The smell made his mouth water and he realized that he hadn't eaten for some while now. Perhaps a day. Perhaps two. No one could blame him, really. He'd been in too much pain to even consider eating anything.

Though, he wouldn't say no to a cookie just about now.

The thought made his stomach grumble, which was embarrassing enough in itself, but the old witch just _had _to give him a sidelong glance to assess him and his condition. If things had been awkward before, they were sure as hell devastatingly weird now. Hell, weren't old people supposed to be the epitome of politeness or something? Wasn't it _his _generation that had lost its way and were all rude and stuff? He once again questioned what the hell he was doing following a stranger to god knew where.

The lady, whoever the hell she was, led him further into her home, lair, whatever the fuck it was. The walls were adorned with photos of people that were obviously long dead and from a time Draco did not recognize. Some of the pictures didn't even move and so Draco knew that they were muggle in fashion. Lots of them didn't even have proper frames! Worse, there were stacks of papers and books, textbooks and knickknacks of various sorts, and a whole host of things that Draco could not place the functions, all haphazardly lining the walls.

She didn't even apologize for the mess like a normal person would've done, like she should've done. Instead, she gruffly told him not to step on anything if he valued his life. The audacity of the woman! Was she some kind of hermit that hadn't had contact with civilization in decades, if ever?

At least it didn't smell bad.

They reached some kind of sitting room, which thankfully wasn't deteriorating like her hallway had been. The old lady grunted and gestured for him to sit in one of the two armchairs, which creaked as he did so. Then, she disappeared, leaving him to ponder what the hell was happening.

The walls were a dulled pink, Draco noticed, as was the speckled ceiling. There were no photos hung up on the walls like there had been in her appalling hallway. In fact, there wasn't anything on the walls at all. The only thing of notice in the room was a large fireplace, which took up most of the space on the far wall, and two large glass doors, which led out to a balcony. It was also sparsely furnished, which was odd after seeing the rest of the flat being so cluttered. There were only two armchairs, one which Draco occupied and the other directly across from him, a short wooden table in between.

The lady eventually came back, bearing a tray of refreshments and two mugs of steaming tea. Draco's mouth watered, because it did honestly smell good. And then she sat down across from him with an ungraceful _thump, _not saying anything, not offering what she'd brought out with her, but just staring at him with beady eyes.

She was an unremarkable thing to look at. She was clearly old. Her face was marked with wrinkles, her hair was a dull grey, and she sat slightly hunched like old people sometimes did. Her clothes were clearly from another century and a style Draco did not recognize. Perhaps they were muggle, but perhaps she was so old that they came from a time well before Draco's. He wondered what she wanted.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," he said after a good five minutes had passed.

"I know who you are," she said evenly.

And another awkward silence reigned. She simply stared, analyzing him, staring at him as if he were the most interesting thing that had come to pass in her probably dull life. Draco felt uncomfortable. No, Draco felt _mortified. _What if she decided to make a stew out of him? He wouldn't put it past her. She looked rather creepy, eyeing him like that. He wouldn't be able to fend her off, since he was so weak. He'd be a goner –

"Well? What have you to say for yourself?" she finally questioned.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Draco, startled. He couldn't imagine what she wanted from him or expected him to say. The situation was rather...surreal.

The lady sighed, obviously irritated. She rolled her eyes at him, as if she had expected to be working with someone with far greater intelligence, but instead had been stuck with an imbecile. Draco did not know whether he ought to be offended or confused. Either way, he had no choice but to wait for her to explain herself. He couldn't just walk away now, after all. He had nowhere else to go, or be.

"I thought I had made myself perfectly clear." She sniffed disdainfully.

Draco just stared and this seemed to aggravate her further.

"I wanted my cloth _cleaned _and my pail _emptied. _Children these days. Do you not _know _that _magic _leaves behind _traces _and _residue?_" she questioned as if he were an utter imbecile. But for some reason, her perfect diction, every word she enunciated amused him. The conversation had begun to remind him of his old great aunt who had spoken in a similar fashion. That is, before she had keeled over and died. "I had to scrub it _twice _as hard! And if you do not believe me, I shall show you the wrinkles on my hands and you shall have to."

"You're Meredith, then?" he asked, smiling slightly. But to be honest, it probably looked more like a grimace. "You're the one that helped me that...night."

She once again rolled her eyes. "Evidently."

"Thank you," Draco said, then. It was not often that he felt such a rush of gratitude. No matter what Hermione had told him, this Meredith person had helped him more than anyone else had ever deigned to. "I mean it, really. Thank you. I... appreciated it."

Meredith just shrugged, waving her hand as if it were of no consequence. Draco couldn't tell her of how much consequence it actually was. He couldn't ever convey how important it had been that she'd offered her help that night. If she hadn't and he'd left feeling all the more desolate for it... well, he didn't know what he'd have done then.

"Well," she questioned again. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Draco didn't know what prompted him to do what he did then. Under normal circumstances, Draco would've just apologized and gone out the door, and he really should have. Instead, he recounted everything that had happened to him in the past few weeks to this relative stranger. For he didn't know her. Yes, she was Granger's neighbour and she _had _helped him where no one else had. But he didn't know her. Yet, for some reason, he poured out his soul to her like he hadn't even given himself to Granger.

He told her of how he had been before he'd ever met Granger. He told her of that night, that fateful night, when the veela had given him her blood, of how he'd wanted Granger since then. He told her of how Granger had reacted, how they'd been talking through her apartment door ever since, and of everything he'd done since then.

He told her of the club, of how he'd felt when Granger had rejected him. He told her of stalking Granger, encountering Weasley at the Ministry. He even told her of the sickness that plagued him wherever he went, things he hadn't even discussed with Hermione to this day. He told her of Blaise, of the company, of his life disintegrating before his very eyes. And by the time he had finished recounting what had happened at the party, and of the bitch Carmen, he was sore and out of breath.

He was surprised he wasn't crying from the retelling of his misery.

She didn't stop his rambling through it all. She didn't complain when he used foul language. Hell, her expression didn't even change! Draco didn't feel like she was judging him, just listening. And for that, Draco felt cleansed. There was nothing more than he needed at that moment than someone to listen, and this Meredith person had done just that. When all was said and done, he just sat there, waiting for her to say something.

When she finally did, it was calm and measured.

"It seems to me that you have two options," she said carefully. "You can either pursue this girl, _properly _this time, or you can go fix the mess you've made at work."

"How?" he asked weakly.

And then, she laughed. It was a beautiful thing. Her whole face transformed into something that seemed to be _alive. _Her posture straightened and she lit up the whole room with her full bellied chuckles. Something warm passed over Draco, and he was seven years old again, listening to his great aunt relay adventures long past.

"That, my dear, is entirely up to you," Meredith responded with a chuckle. "But I suppose I can offer a few pointers. You are, after all, a daft young man."

/

"_Hermione!" _someone shouted. "Hermione, are you already sleeping?"

She took in a deep breath, hoping it would be enough to fortify her poor acting skills, and then started to count backwards from ten. She ought to have seen it coming, she reasoned. It really had been only a matter of time before the abominable duo would come checking in after her. She couldn't avoid them forever, after all.

At least, not while she was staying under their roof.

_Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven... _

Things hadn't been the same for her since the Saturday her mind had failed her. Hermione hadn't known what to do and there hadn't been many options before her. She hadn't had the time to crash and burn – she _did_ have to go back to work on Monday, after all. And, of course, she'd had to hold her head up high for the media. And she had. She'd gone out with Ginny and Padma on Sunday then again on Monday.

_Six, Five... _

They had insisted that she stay at their house, which she'd gladly accepted. She hadn't thought she could stand another day by herself, staring at the window. And God knew she wasn't going to sit by the door. Malfoy was clearly not coming back and she really didn't think she wanted him to. Or more accurately, she didn't know whether she wanted to smack him over the head for being so fucking dimwitted or just hug him and tell him goodbye.

Either way, she wasn't ready to face that rocky situation.

_Four... _

And so, when she had fulfilled all her days work and nothing more was required of her, she sequestered herself in Ginny and Padma's guest bedroom. Sometimes she'd just lay there for hours. Sometimes, she slept. Most of the time she just practiced breathing.

It was comforting to know that she was safe here, at least. Malfoy couldn't try to convince her that it wasn't all his fault if she wasn't there to listen to him. But best of all, there were no cameras flashing here. There was just her, her breathing, and the ceiling, which wouldn't move no matter how long she stared at it.

_Three, two, one! _

"..._Can't just let her stay in there all day_!"one of them was whispering outside the door. The voice was far too low for her to discern whether it was Ginny or Padma who'd said it. She had a feeling that it was Ginny, though. Padma just happened to be the more understanding of the two. "_She'll go mental_!"

It went on for nearly five minutes. Hermione was surprised that they didn't realize that she could clearly hear them, but perhaps they were too preoccupied. Hermione wasn't very preoccupied these days, so she noticed. It would be hard not to, their whispers were practically like yells. Hermione shuddered, but then forced herself to stop. At least they cared about her, she reasoned.

At least they'd let her stay here.

The door opened, but Hermione didn't move. She barely even breathed, despite knowing that the action would probably give away the fact that she wasn't actually asleep. She felt the bed dip from where one of the girls sat next to her and she heard a small sigh. Then, whoever it was began to stroke her hair and fuss with the covers.

"Ginny thinks you might suffocate if you spend too much time here by yourself," said Padma in her perfect pronunciation, for it was unmistakeably Padma, even though the girl was whispering. Hermione snorted. The action felt gratifying. "She might be right. It's counterproductive."

"To what?" Hermione asked, curious. She turned to lie on her back so that she could see Padma as she spoke.

Padma shrugged. "Moving on?"

Hermione didn't say anything, she didn't have to. She knew that it was silly not to acknowledge what Padma had said, but Padma wouldn't mind.

They both knew that Hermione wasn't the kind of person to just _forget _and move on_. _No, Hermione was a stubborn person and because of that, she held onto things far longer than she should have. She had always been this way. Whether it was chasing after Ron, S.P.E.W, Voldemort himself, or even a pair of shoes. She was tireless and there was no way anything would escape her grasp when she really set her mind to it.

That was the thing. She'd really set her mind to him so there was no way she was ready to just let go everything that had evolved in the past few months.

No way in hell was she just about to _forget _that Draco Malfoy had come in and ruined her perfectly acceptable life. She'd had everything before he'd come and destroyed it all. The thought left her depressed. He'd come in like a tidal wave and swept her away, leaving only destruction in his path. And now, now that he was gone and done with her, she was going to have to rebuild all by herself.

Padma seemed to sense the change in her mood because her friend shifted and resumed stroking her hair. "You know that you can stay here as long as you want, right?" Padma said, softly. "We'll always be here for you as long as you need."

Hermione just nodded, too tired to thank her.

She didn't know how long they sat in silence, only that she was glad for the unimposing company. Eventually, after much time had passed, Padma left. But that was alright too, because Hermione couldn't really feel much outside of the stupor she had fallen in. All she could do was stare at the ceiling and think like she'd been doing for the past couple of days.

It was a curious thing, feeling like how she was feeling. She wasn't entirely sure why, if she was being entirely honest with herself. It wasn't like they'd done anything or were close. He was just a guy who she'd spent a lot of time talking to through her apartment door at all hours of the night. She honestly hadn't expected to be all that close to him, either.

She couldn't remember when _that _development had occurred. But obviously it had, because she was depressed for some reason. Perhaps it was knowing that he just wouldn't be there anymore and she'd come to depend on him to talk to. Everyone needed someone to talk to, after all. And he had become her confidant.

Maybe she'd just liked him as a person.

It was a likely possibility, obviously. He was – or had been – an intriguing person. Hermione had always had a weakness for intriguing people and that wasn't going to change any time soon. He wasn't like anything she'd ever known and perhaps that's why she'd fallen for him. It was a depressing thought, depressing as fuck that she'd actually deigned to like a _Slytherin. _

Everyone knew they were bad to the core, and now it seemed obvious to her. Like she should've known it all along. She had – she'd warned herself. But nevertheless...

She'd known him for what he was and _still _had wanted him. In the beginning and for quite a while after until he'd gotten wise and had actually started _wooing _her, he'd been honest. Or at least, it seemed to her like he was being honest. That was what had gotten her liking him in the first place, not the flowers or presents or kind words. It had been his bluntness and his personality.

She felt like she'd known him then, better than anyone had ever known him because it was obvious that he'd forced himself to share things he'd never shared with anyone else before. Even though they'd barely known each other for a few months, she felt like she understood him on a level no one else did.

It was a pity he'd fucked up, because no one would ever get him like she did. Even though they were clearly dysfunctional – hell, she never had opened the door to this day – they _understood _each other. For she had shared herself with him too.

Pity indeed.

She would miss him and his quick witted tongue, yes she'd miss him terribly, but she'd eventually move past it. At least, she thought she would. She'd be weak and depressed for a while and she'd crave him. Hell, she'd probably even mourn him some more. She'd dream and she'd wish things had gone differently. She'd do the stupid things girls with heartbreak did. But in the end, when all was said and done, she'd persevere and she'd do as Padma had suggested.

She'd move on.

/

Things progressed slowly for Hermione. Minutes inched into hours and hours inched into days, days eventually stretched into a whole two weeks. The passage of time proved to be momentous, because Hermione eventually evacuated the guest room and picked up her old stride again. The moment the door shut behind her, she felt like she could breathe easy again.

Her presence surprised Ginny and Padma as they'd grown used to only seeing her leave and come back from work. They were happy, of course, but suspicious.

"How are you feeling?" Ginny eventually asked after a long silence had passed. Hermione hadn't even noticed.

"Aching, sore, itchy, and a little bit peckish. Dead, pretty much," she said slowly. Glancing up, she braved a smile. "And you?"

At first, Ginny was at a loss for words. Had Hermione Granger just been _witty? _The same Hermione Granger that had barred herself in her room for what seemed like forever? It only took a moment of shocked silence for Ginny to recover and share a smug glance with Padma. And then, she broke into laughter like only Ginny could – inappropriately and in a most amusing fashion.

"Welcome back," she said simply, and passed Hermione the pumpkin juice. Hermione's smile grew wider until she couldn't help but laugh as well.

It was in a similar method that she began to set her life back in order. In some ways, things were almost like they used to be before Draco Malfoy had made her crash and burn. For that, she was thankful. But in other ways, things were utterly different. For that, she had nothing to say.

She could see hints of him everywhere.

He was there in the way her co-workers glanced at her. Of course they'd seen the papers – who _hadn't_? Some were sympathetic, some were just downright pleased. He was there in the way she responded to them. After all, bribes and blackmail did get things done faster than diligence did, so she'd stuck with his advice. Not that she'd ever acknowledge to herself that it was his advice she was using.

He was all over her apartment, especially at the door.

As much as she'd love to live at Padma and Ginny's place, eventually she'd had to go home. And so, she'd braced herself one Sunday afternoon and had just done it. It had been bittersweet for the first few hours, but then she'd gone back to her normal self like she'd been doing forever.

Eventually, she came to the realization that things _could _change. Fall was approaching and the leaves were changing colour. Eventually, the gossip magazines left her alone and went for a change in topic. Soon after that, her mail patterns changed as well – no more hoards of letters. Just the usual. Soon after that, she learned that she could change as well.

And slowly, she did.

/

It was a Monday morning when her life got immensely more exciting. She wasn't entirely sure if it was for the better or for the worse. Either way, she couldn't have avoided it forever. She was only surprised that she had avoided it for as long as she had and had gotten away with it, too.

Hermione had almost been tranquil when she had gotten into work that day. Things had been slow, sure, and predictable – something she could really could have gotten used to if given the chance. She had even gotten up early that day to tame her annoying hair, an act she didn't have the patience to do on most days. No one usually noticed it, but it gave Hermione a miniscule boost of self confidence. She actually looked presentable. Her hair flowed down her back in nice loose curls.

Not that looking decent mattered one way or another.

She got herself a mug of coffee before entering her office to begin her day. She sipped it as she sat at her desk, sifting through the mail that had piled in her inbox over the weekend. It was monotonous work, reading and answering mail, but that was what she had always done first thing Monday morning and there was no sense breaking the pattern now. She was only beginning to return to her old self, after all.

Unfortunately for her, most of the correspondence was junk. There were three letters from various publications that wanted her opinion on some kind of ministry failure, regardless of the fact that it wasn't related to her job whatsoever. There were seven letters complaining about the quality of service at her department – something she was supposed to _fix. _Then there was the usual Ginny her asking her over to dinner, fan mail, three invitations to the openings of random stores at Diagon Alley, and at the very bottom was a white unmarked envelope with only her name on it.

She really ought to have been wary of it. It was addressed to her, sure, but the only reason a sender would not write his or her name on the envelope would be for either nefarious purposes or if they were intimately familiar with the recipient. She didn't recognize the handwriting, though it was rather pretty. Either way, she was too fed up with opening letters to be overly careful.

The second she laid eyes on the letter, she regretted it.

Of course, she should have known this was going to happen sooner or later but she'd hoped that later would have turned into never and she could jump _that _boat. She thought of burning the fucking thing, but she couldn't. Her eyes were already devouring it like they'd been starving and this was a scrumptious meal.

Well, she reasoned, he really did have pretty handwriting.

_Hermione_, it said.

_You must know by now that the allegations you laid against me were entirely false. I have enclosed evidence to corroborate my case, just to prepare for the event that you don't believe me. And why should you? _

Why should she, indeed? He was a lying, manipulating, slithering _Malfoy. _Of course she ought not to trust him. Every cell in her body shouted to her that he wasn't trustworthy, that if she continued reading the poisonous words, she'd be doomed forever. But, she was weak and she still hadn't fully recovered from him. He was almost like a drug. So, she read on.

_You must feel like you have a million reasons to mistrust me and I won't waste your time disputing that. I just want to tell you that I miss you. Desperately. I need you. Not simply because of the veela blood, though that still rages within me. I won't lie to you about that. I just need to speak with you, even if it is just once more. Please do not deny me that opportunity. _

_If anything, I just want to make you happy. If that means you never wish to see me again, I will respect your wishes and accept my punishment in good faith. In the meanwhile, I will continue to work towards becoming the man you wish me to be. I have assumed full responsibility of my father's company and am now working towards saving it. _

_I dearly hope to hear from you soon. _

_Ever yours, _

_Draco._

It was everything she had needed to hear from him. How the hell had he known? She quickly emptied the envelope of its remaining contents, things which she hadn't noticed earlier, only to find that he hadn't been lying. He _had _included proof – tons of it. He had taken every published picture of him and Carmen to a film master, who had performed the necessary spell work to show that they were all doctored.

Carmen had faked the whole thing.

Fake! Every last one of them. Draco hadn't been lying, no, that was obvious, but it was also apparent that he wasn't telling the whole truth about the situation. Regardless, it didn't matter because no wizarding news publication had ever printed a retraction. Not even an apology. Her situation was nothing – she remembered how they'd slandered Harry and later Dumbledore. No, she'd have no use for these pictures. There was nothing she could do with them.

Nevertheless, she couldn't stop flipping through them, either. These were the pictures that had caused her so much grief. She'd cried over these fucking things. The pretty girl with the guy she kinda sorta liked. The entire population of Wizarding Britain judging her, comparing her to this supermodel of a woman, all because of these photographs. As she sorted through them, her eye was caught to one that Draco had circled in red.

_I don't wear plaid, _it said on the back in his elegant script. _That should have been your first clue. _

The comment made Hermione hysterically laugh because it had to be undeniable true. Though she had rarely ever seen him in person and when she had, she hadn't exactly been paying attention to his clothes, but the thought of Draco Malfoy in plaid was just... well, it was fucking funny!

She laughed so hard that she began to cry and when that happened, she couldn't help but continue on sobbing. It was pathetic, really. She was crying over a boy who she didn't even really know properly just because he'd said that he wanted to make her happy. Who knew, maybe he actually _did. _He sure as hell had tried, was apparently still trying. She clutched the letter to her chest. He was still manipulating her. He was on the other side and yet he was still managing to manipulate her emotions.

Draco Malfoy had many negative qualities, but she had to admit. This was a better side of him to admire.

She wiped away her tears and attempted to fix her now ruined appearance. Fuck Malfoy for messing that up for her too. Now everyone would know that she was aching. But it didn't matter, after all, because Hermione didn't say a word to anyone for the rest of the day. She didn't even emerge out of her office until everyone else had left for the day.

And when Hermione finally took her tired self to bed that night, she slept with the letter under her pillow. It was an idiotic thing to do, but she didn't care. No one was there to see and judge her, after all. It was oddly comforting, even if it was stupid.

It was almost like he was whispering her to sleep, just like he used to from the other side of the door.

The drama of her Monday morning wasn't an isolated incident. The letters continued every single goddamn day, sometimes several times a day. There was nothing she could do except read each and every single word like it was a drug. She continued to torture herself with them like a bloody masochist. Because there was no way she could just ignore it. There was no way she could just _stop. _

It was weird because Hermione wasn't usually like this. She was usually calm and rational and collected. When she had decided to end things with Victor, including their enjoyable writing correspondence, she had simply moved on. She hadn't wept at his letters like she was weeping continuously at Draco's now. Victor had been sweet, too, hadn't he?

But maybe not as sweet as Draco. Draco wrote things like: _I don't think that there's been a moment that's gone by where I haven't thought of you. _He wrote words that were then imprinted into her mind, things that she'd never forget no matter how hard she tried. How was she not supposed to be affected by something like that? How was she supposed to read that and not weep?

_Hermione, _he wrote.

_I don't think I can bear another day without talking to you. There are so many things I would ask you if you would permit me. Do you loathe me? _(No, she thought, she didn't loathe him. She couldn't loathe him.) _Do you wish me to stop writing to you? _(YES! STOP WRITING TO ME YOU FUCKER! Yes! No... No. No...)

_Do you want to see me? _(Yes...Maybe.) _Am I a fool for trying to save my father's company? _(What kind of a ridiculous question is that?)

_None of that matters compared to how much I need you. My life is unbalanced when I don't have you scolding me as my moral compass. I don't have your many opinions floating around in my head and I feel incomplete. I even miss your hard hallway floor and your brilliant door _(Here, his quill must have wavered for the writing seemed forced.)

_Please, Hermione. I can't sleep at night comfortably knowing that the one person I value most in this wretched life refuses to see my face. _

And on and on it went. He filled up pages and pages, so many that Hermione couldn't comfortably sleep with them all under her pillow anymore. His words began to consume her life. It became so bad that all she could think about was him, so bad that she could hear him actually talk to her when he wasn't actually there. She became weak. She became obsessed. She was...

She was just a mess and there was nothing she could do about it.

/

It had been a light tapping at first and then a banging. She had been alarmed at first, halfway in the process of getting ready for work as she had been. She had thought that someone was attempting to break into her flat, which had only turned her thoughts to a very dangerous and inebriated Malfoy. But a quick check had shown that it was only Ron's owl Pig, banging its little body against her living room window.

Annoying bugger.

She had grown to hate the creature over the years. At first she had been partial to it, because it _was _little and cute, after all. But then she learned that it chirped through all hours of the night and she had then wanted to shoot its head off. Ron hadn't allowed that, though. Ron had kept the fucking thing for sentimental purposes, even though the owl was too small and way too old to carry any mail properly.

Taking the letter from Pig's extended leg, she shooed the thing right back outside her window, not caring if it was tired. In fact, she hoped it crashed during its flight home. That'd teach it to keep her awake at night and still expect treats!

She opened the letter without thinking about it, which was as stupid a mistake as any could be.

_Hermione, _it said.

_I really wish we could talk like we used to be able to. I know you've been going through some hard times recently and I wanted to write to you, but Ginny told me to wait. I've waited (obviously) and I was hoping we could settle our past differences. _

_You know that I love you. I've always loved you. Just give me one more chance to prove it to you. I swear that this time I won't fail you. I swear it on my mother's life! I've reserved our usual table at your favourite restaurant for Sunday at seven. I really hope you'll be there. _

_Love, Ron. _

She wasn't quite sure what to do. She was at such a loss that all she could do was just stand there, staring at the rough piece of parchment bearing Ron's messy scrawl. She stood there for so long that she was late for work and not really caring that she was besides. Usually, Hermione had no difficulty forming opinions. Usually, she knew just what to think. But right at that moment, it felt as if the gears in her mind had ground to a standstill.

And that worried her.

So she did what she _could _do. She ripped the letter up, disposed of the pieces, and went to work before anything else could delay her. When she got there, she didn't sit in her office and _think about it _like she would've done before. She didn't even give it a stray thought. It wasn't important, after all. It was just... Well, she didn't really know what it was. Or how to feel. So, she ignored it. Something she'd learned from Malfoy himself.

At work, another letter of Malfoy's lay in her inbox, waiting for her. At first, she couldn't even bear to touch it. She'd already suffered enough for one day, after all. There wasn't much more Malfoy could say, anyway. There was no way anyone could be so eloquent. All she knew was that if he said one more goddamn sweet thing, she'd really break.

Nevertheless, she couldn't stop herself opening the fucking thing.

It was short, shorter than anything else he'd sent her throughout the week. The differences between his writing and Ron's struck her as odd. Ron's was messy, all over the place, such a disaster that she had to work to decipher it. Draco's was... smooth. Perhaps the surmised the differences between their personalities, too.

He had surmised her very thoughts in one sentence. It wasn't eloquent, it wasn't like the prose he had taken to as of late. It wasn't meant to be moving or touching. This was the Malfoy she knew. It was only a sentence, but she could literally _feel _him in it. It was as honest as he could make himself be and that she understood.

_No one's ever going to get you like I do, Granger. _

And there was nothing more on the paper. She didn't cry, though she desperately wanted to. She didn't move to sit down, didn't shake, didn't even breathe. All she did was stand there and tried her damned best to think through what had to happen. She was in a delicate situation, after all, and both men had to have a response.

But what was she going to say? And to whom? She couldn't just ignore Ron forever and she'd ignored Draco for long enough. They both needed answers from her and she'd eventually have to face her fears and answer both of them. They were both fucked up, that was true. But who was worse? Who would she be happier with?

Draco was unpredictable. He was explosive, irrational, irritating, and an occasional disaster. But he made her feel alive. He made her see her purpose in life and questioned her beliefs like no one else could. Ron was persistent. He was angry, idiotic, and jealous. But he was always dependable when she needed him to be. He would allow her to be whoever she wanted.

So she was screwed, wasn't she?

Hermione began to gnaw on her bottom lip, hoping that the answer to all of her problems would magically appear to her out of thin air. It ought to have. She ought to have prayed to someone to help her and whomever was watching over her would tell her just what she needed to do. But she didn't have the foresight to ask for help. She didn't even owl Ginny or Padma. No, she just sat down and spent hours thinking instead of working like she should have been.

And eventually, it began to dawn on her. She was going to have to do what was best for her future. And that obviously meant choosing. She couldn't have both, of course. That was ludicrous. She'd have to cast her lot with one of them and stick with it, no matter how difficult the decision was.

She sighed and squared her shoulders. Even though it sickened her to have to disappoint either of them – despite that they'd both made her life miserable for far too long - it still pained her to have to do it. He would be sad. He'd break things, probably. He'd want to come see her and yell at her for rejecting him, probably. And they'd fight. And she'd probably cry.

But she'd be happier for it, she reasoned.

So, she found a piece of parchment and wet her quill with ink. At first, she didn't really know what to say. What _could _she say, after all? Thank you for your offer, but no thank you? No, that would be crass. He'd been kind, after all. He thought they actually had a chance together after all that had happened. Or at least, that's what the letter had led her to believe. So, she decided to keep it short.

_I wished it mattered, _

_H.G. _

And that was that. She sent it off with through the Ministry Mail Service, which would send it to him with an owl. Soon, someone she actually cared about would be depressed. But it had to happen. There was no other option but this, anyway.

She really did wish it mattered, though. She really did.

**A/N: DUN DUN DUN DUNNNN! Who do you think Hermione's going to choose? In the original plan for this chapter there was a scene that reveals who she really chose, but after writing a few drafts, I decided to go for a cliff hanger instead. Don't kill me! Here's a spoiler: **

_**This was the end for him. Nothing else mattered besides the fact that he was about to faint and never wake up again. He hadn't even gotten to say goodbye... **_

**UNSIGNED REVIEWS: **

** .com: **Thank you! I'm glad you think so.

**Angel: **Welcome back to the amazing world of fanfiction. :) I'm glad you chose to read my story as one of the first and am glad that it lived up to any expectations! Thank you so very much for reviewing. I apologize for the delay in updating.


	13. On the Other Side

A/N: I'm not sure where exactly this chapter came from, only that I could not have written it without all of your encouragement and support. To those of you who were yelling at me for the cliffhanger from the last chapter, you are going to both love and hate this chapter. So, enjoy!

Thank you to all of my reviewers: Chocolateice, reader204, Eva1983, DM66, xxfreexx, anon, abbily.1428, StrawberryPeaches, TheRedDress, glitterboden, HPLLDMHGfanforever, DZAuthor AKA DZMom, Musette Fujiwara, nikki98, sweet-tang-honney, Mondo89, TwinzLover, Venetiangrl92, HarryPGinnyW4eva, Khoes, Frau von Boedefeld, stephy9191, Vaneesa85, semantics, bella Malfoy Cullen, lazy daisy, and Virivie.

_**Song Selection for this Chapter: On the Other Side by The Strokes **_

**Chapter Thirteen: On the Other Side**

"Are you sure you're alright, sir?" asked the man's head as it floated in the fire.

Draco had to fight hard not to roll his eyes and yell at the fucking imbecile. Of _course _he wasn't alright and of _course _he was sure about that. But that wasn't the concern of a lowlife fucking secretary, now was it? Draco couldn't exactly tell the fellow to fuck off, nor could he sit there and tell the kid his entire life story. Not that he wanted to, anyway. He just wanted to sit there and die, but all he could do was grit his teeth and try his best not to throw up in the fireplace.

Which, of course, was a likely possibility at this point.

"Yes, I'm perfectly alright. Now," he said, pausing. He had had to stop midsentence because a jolt of pain had suddenly decided to flash up his spine in the most unexpected of fashions. But he hoped that to the unexpecting kid, it only looked like he was stopping for dramatic effect. Or to collect his thoughts. Something cool like that, in any case.

"Yes, sir?" the boy asked uncomfortably.

Draco cleared his throat. He hoped the action passed off as self important rather than awkward and painful. "Is my appointment with Mr. Flaharty confirmed?"

"Well..." The assistant, secretary, whatever the fuck he was, flushed beet red. It was probably due to his inexperience with his job or perhaps it was because of the flames of the fireplace. Fire calling was always a hazard after all. Draco always felt odd watching heads floating in his fireplace. It was bizarre. It was completely outdated. "Um..."

"Well?" Draco almost snarled. The kid was really starting to get on his bloody nerves. "Spit it out!"

"I... well, if you aren't feeling well, sir, I could schedule you in for next week-"

"Tomorrow," Draco cut him off, not letting him finish his pathetic excuse. "We agreed upon tomorrow and that's what I shall have. If Mr. Flaharty does not wish to honour our appointment, I really will be most upset. I'm sure the Daily Prophet will _love _to hear just how _upset _I am!"

No, his voice wasn't the slightest bit high pitched. It was absolutely fucking perfect, it was. It hadn't cracked the slightest bit! He felt better about his performance when the wretched fellow's head burned a brighter red. Perhaps the little twit was suffocating. Perhaps if that happened, Draco would feel better. God knew he'd dealt with enough stupid people to last him a lifetime in the past couple of weeks.

Draco knew what the nonsense was really about, of course. No one wanted to see him, not really. It would be a disgrace to their good honor and all that fucking bullshit. It was hell trying to get people to even meet with him these days, but Merlin knew he was trying. He had spent the last three weeks trying to get this one _insignificant _man to talk to him. Now, after many rescheduled appointments, unanswered owls, and ignored floo visits, Draco had reached his wits end. Some people only responded to threats.

The youth's face was approaching a deep plum colour, if that was even possible. "That won't be necessary, sir. I shall inform Mr. Flaharty of your...wishes."

"See to it that you do it properly this time," Draco responded as coldly as he could manage in the condition that he was in. He waved his hand to dismiss the boy, who immediately disappeared into the flames.

Then, Draco was blissfully alone.

Then, Draco could finally curl up onto the floor and start hyperventilating.

It had taken every ounce of his strength and endurance to sit through that five minute fire call. Things were getting worse for him, so bad that he could barely sit composed for any period of time. He tried to get his breathing under control, but that was a useless endeavour to begin with. All he could do was pant, gasp for air as he kneeled on the floor, trying not to move too much lest he trigger another bout of pain.

And the pain _was _bad. There was no ignoring the reality of the situation. Ever since he'd left Hermione to her own devices, his body had begun to deteriorate. It was inexplicable to him. How could a few drops of veela blood cause this much chaos in his system? How could his very wellbeing be linked to a girl? It was just wrong. It was just plain fucking wrong.

It felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside out, like his limbs were being torn off his frame slowly, only to be reattached so the process could once again be repeated. Or perhaps it was more like being stabbed repeatedly all the bloody time. While being drowned. In acid. With animals gnawing on his bones. With Voldemort's cruciatus added in the mix.

Needless to say, it hurt like a fucking bitch.

Beyond the pain, there was the nausea. So much so that he could barely eat. This was obviously counterproductive as it only weakened him further. Soon, it had become difficult for him to stand. Not long after that, it had become difficult for him to stay awake long enough to somehow miraculously save his father's company. Or, his company, as it was.

Not that he wasn't trying, because he was. Very bloody hard.

It didn't matter though, how hard he tried. Everyone looked at him like was some kind of withering fool. He probably was, to be fair. He definitely was withering, so that much was true. Everyone could see that. He looked gaunt, dark circles ringed his eyes, and his bones were starting to show in places. Not that he could do much about that. His hair was lank and dry. He looked like a corpse, pretty much, worse than how he'd looked in his sixth year.

And he'd looked pretty fucking bad in his sixth year, mind you.

But he was also the fool. He _knew _he was pretty much swimming in enemy territory and he knew everyone was laughing behind his back, but that didn't mean anything to him anymore. He was stuck with this situation because this was probably what Hermione wanted from him. If she wanted anything at all from him anymore.

He tried not to think about that, he really did try. But Draco had come to realize that he was meant to fail in most things, this included. Thinking about Hermione and what she wanted from him was a topic that ought not to be discussed, let alone thought about. It wasn't that he didn't want to think about it, it was just that Hermione Granger was a cruel hearted, ball busting, death mongering -

_I wish it mattered. _

Fuck that bitch, he thought.

Digging into his pocket, he brought out the crumpled letter that she'd sent him. She wished it fucking mattered. What the bloody fuck did that mean, anyway? It wasn't like she could break up with him – they'd never been together in the first place. But did this mean that she was refusing to ever see him again? He'd kill her before he let that happen. Yeah, he fucking would.

Damn it! He wasn't meant to be dwelling on any of this nonsense. He had stuff to do. Like trying not to die, which seemed like a real possibility at the moment. Or eating lunch, because _that _hadn't happened in a while. What was wrong with him?

But no, if he was being honest with himself, he probably wouldn't dare kill her. But that was besides the point. He was in _so _much bloody pain that he was actually considering it. What would it take to get her with him? Perhaps torture. Perhaps blackmail. Perhaps he'd have to kidnap the she-weasel. It was alright, though, even if he ended up in Azkaban, because by the end of it he wouldn't feel like _this _anymore.

He tried not to sob, but tears escaped his eyes anyway as another flash of pain travelled up his spine. He wondered when it would end.

_I wish it mattered. _

She wished it fucking mattered.

Oh, hell, he was going to destroy her just like how she'd destroyed him. Yeah, he would. No, he wouldn't... Perhaps he'd just destroy her flat and that bloody fucking annoying door. Yeah, maybe he'd do that. But how would he get there? It was a very long walk. There was no way that he'd manage to apparate, so that was out of the question. If he used the floo, he'd likely throw up everywhere...

"Mr. Malfoy?" came an alarmed voice from somewhere above him.

"What do you want?" he grunted into the carpet below him.

The voice in question roughly turned him onto his back and whistled. "You look like shit, if you don't mind me saying."

It was Bart, the PR guy. Yes, he'd finally had to learn the man's name, since he'd had to sign the fellow's paycheck. As if that hadn't been painful enough, the fucker was now insulting him. So Draco glared, only to have the bastard smirk back at him in return. Bart had been a saviour in all respects. Nothing close to what Blaise had been, of course, and if Blaise was back they'd probably be in business once more. But Bart was as good a replacement as any.

They'd actually managed to sit down with a couple of investors before Draco had gotten too wretched to sit through any meetings over five minutes without retching. _I wish it mattered. _She was going to fucking wish it mattered! He would see to it. Just like he was going to see to it that he and Bart would be successful bloody people.

"Get me a drink, Bart," he ordered, quite rudely at that. "Make it a triple."

Bart just shrugged nonchalantly. "If you say so."

That was one of the things he really liked about Bart Gloringhouse. The man didn't ask too many questions and just followed the important instructions without comment. Or any disparaging comments, at the very least. If Blaise had been here, he'd probably have criticized Draco for drinking during work hours. Well, Blaise could just go fuck himself. The alcohol was probably the only thing that kept him going, to be honest. That wasn't something he was about to give up.

Draco crushed the letter in his fist, probably acquiring a new set of paper cuts as he did so. It wasn't fucking over just because she'd bloody said it was over. He was going to make her see reason. He was going to go over there and tell her that she was a fucking bitch for thinking she could just _reject _him like that.

And then she'd just have to accept him.

Or maybe he'd just sit here and drink this. Then throw it up later. It was as good a plan as any. He didn't really have much going for him at the moment. At least before, he'd had something; he'd had his health and his playboy like antics. That was something to respect. Now he was just a sick motherfucking bastard that could barely do his job properly. What girl wanted that kind of thing, anyway?

She probably had prospects all lined up for her, anyway. She didn't need him, not in the slightest. She was Hermione fucking Granger after all, and he was a Malfoy. It had never made sense to him when she'd said that (and she'd said that a lot, probably not even realizing as she did so) but now he got it. She thought she was something and thought he was nothing.

In a way, that made perfect sense to him now.

Bart helped him back into the armchair and handed him another drink. Draco didn't notice when the man left him there in peace. Not that it was peaceful, not in the least. He tried his best not to scream out as his body was wracked with another bout of shocking pains. At least the alcohol helped with that part.

And as he closed his eyes, he thought, fuck – _what if I die like this?_ It would be just his luck. Then Hermione Granger really could be the death of him. Fancy death it would be, too. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. Perhaps it would _matter _to her_. _Who knew?

He thought he felt a bone break as he drifted off to sleep.

/

For the millionth time that day, Hermione sighed. It wasn't an intentional _why is the world so bloody annoying _kind of sigh, nor was it entirely conscious at all. No, Hermione was just tired, world weary, and perhaps a little on the annoyed side of things. And she hadn't even done much all day!

Really, all she'd done was read over Draco's letters again (which had made her annoyed), let Ginny fuss over her whilst she'd gotten ready for the "big night out" (which had made her even more annoyed), and then she'd wadded through traffic all the way to the middle of godforsaken Diagon Alley during the evening rush hour (which had made her want to kill babies. The really cute kind).

Of course Ron would want to eat at a restaurant smack dab in the middle of Diagon alley. It was the perfect location for everyone to stare at him in all his disgusting glory. And of course he'd have the audacity to call it _her _favourite restaurant. If he'd known anything about her, he'd have known she loathed the place with her entire being. Especially the window seat that he'd always insisted they sit at.

Hell, she'd only endured it because she'd wanted to make him happy.

With a sigh and perhaps a curse word or two, Hermione entered the devil's lair. It wasn't actually _called _the devil's lair, of course. It went by the more innocent looking title of _Gigorgio's Pizzaria. _But it really was the devil's lair. She could feel herself breaking out into a sweat the second she walked in the door and her hands became clammy. It didn't help that everyone was _staring _at her, both inside the restaurant and those passing by outside it.

And then there was Ron, sitting at the table that they'd always sat at because he liked to look at everything but her when they were out. Perks of having a window view, of course. However, when he got up from his chair, smiled at her with his usual easy going charming smile, and even pulled her chair out for her, she felt that perhaps she was being a little more harsh than necessary.

He _was _trying to be nice after all.

"I'm so glad you came, Hermione," he said, immediately beginning to talk without giving her the opportunity to explain herself. "You've no idea how much of a rut I've been in over this. I couldn't stand having you be mad at me, you know. I just, I can't tell you how happy I am that everything's going to be back to normal now that you're-"

She tried to get his attention by clearing her throat, raising her hand to signal to him that it was her goddamn turn to talk, and even stomping her heel on the ground. But he just kept on talking and talking and talking. The scene began to take on a nightmarish quality. But of course, Ron didn't pay attention to any of that.

"And I suppose you wouldn't say no to coming to the Burrow with me next week? Mum's just been dying to see you. She was almost as roughed up as I was when she found out we weren't... you know, together anymore!" he said, staring at a spot just over her shoulder. "It was tough, really. She wouldn't even let me in the house for a week there, and you know how I can't cook a day to save my life. It was horrid going for a bit without you."

Then finally, he paused to take a sip of water.

Well, she wasn't about to let an opportunity like that slip. This was getting awkward enough as it was. "Well, I'm sure you have the greatest of intentions, Ron, but I-"

"Of course, Hermione," he said smiling, not even noticing that he'd cut her off mid sentence. As if the middle of her sentence had just interrupted the beginning of his. Typical! "I just hope you know how much I missed you."

Then she really did heave a sigh. Completely intentionally too. "Right, well. That's great and all, but that's not what I'm here for-"

"What do you say we order the special, hm?" he asked, cutting her off again.

She felt herself get a little red in the face. Perhaps it was because she hadn't had much of a social life lately, or perhaps it was because she had been away from Ron for too long, but she really was not used to his pace of conversation. Draco had always let her speak, had always allowed her to state _her _mind first before stating his own.

Not that she was expecting Ron to be anything like Malfoy, obviously. They were two separate entities, like earth and water. But that was besides the point! Would it be too difficult to pay some attention to her for once? Was it really that hard for him to listen to anyone but himself?

"No, Ron," she finally said, trying her best not to let her voice waver. "I'm not staying for dinner."

"What do you mean?" he asked, finally looking up from the menu to stare her straight in the eye. It was startling for a second to receive the full force of his blue gaze. His eyes were soft. Nothing like how she remembered Draco's to be. These were familiar, though, and she almost felt like she could be nineteen again where everything was just easy and dandy. "Do you have a lot of work to catch up on?"

"No, I just wanted to do this in person-" she began to say.

"Because we can definitely get something parcelled up, you know. You didn't have to come all the way out here, I could've just brought it to you," he said with a smile.

And yes, the smile wasdazzling because the man before her _was _dazzling. Well, as dazzling as they came, anyway. For a second, she was staring at the boy with whom she'd fallen in love with. He was sweet and considerate. He never put himself before her work, which he understood was as important to her as breathing. That was something Malfoy hadn't understood. Not that she could remember at least...

As she stared at Ron across from her, she realized that perhaps he wasn't as bad as she'd come in here thinking. He was just a human, after all, just like her. She had her faults like he had his. It would be hypocritical to treat him as anything else. Perhaps she had just had too many expectations, far too many for anyone to fulfill. Ron really was a _good _person, which was something she couldn't doubt.

Maybe it was her fault things hadn't worked out all those times. Maybe it was her fault that they'd broken up so much. Maybe it was her expectations that had held Ron back from showing her his potential. Or perhaps no one was compatible with her because she was impossible to live with. She was certainly nothing like the Carmens of the world, no, she was not rich nor was she all that beautiful.

Perhaps this was going to be harder than she'd anticipated.

When she snapped out of her reverie, she found Ron ordering several items from the menu, more than what two people could possibly consume in a day let alone at one meal. She wasn't sure whether she ought to be amused or repulsed, but either way she wasn't going to be staying to figure it out. No, it would be better to just get up and go now before she could make a scene.

"Listen, Ron..." she began when the waiter had gone. She tried to keep her voice as quiet as possible. "I didn't come here to patch things up with you."

"Sorry?" He seemed befuddled.

"I don't want to get back together with you," she mumbled, trying not to look him in the eye. She knew he was going to be confused. Worse, she knew he was about to get angry. Typical Ron. "I just thought it would be better to tell you that in person. So that we don't have any misunderstandings like last time. I just think it would be better if we could manage to be friends-"

"Now I know you don't mean that," he began to say. "Everyone knows we're perfect together. Always have been! You've said it yourself on _several _occasions..."

"Ron, I really am sorry-"

"You don't have to be sorry. I know you're confused with all that's been happening to you," he said, reaching into his pocket. "I wanted to wait until after dessert to do this. But we can really make things work out between us this time. I'm ready to really fix things up, you know, we can make it this time-"

"No," said Hermione.

She tried to be firm, but he was being like how he'd always been. Insistent and persuasive. He seemed to believe that he was ready for her now, that _this _time was going to be any different from _last_ time, but she knew that wasn't true. Not that he didn't believe it, but this was a speech that he'd given her on several occasions. She'd heard just about every excuse in the book from him.

But then Ron did something that surprised even her. She'd thought she had known everything about him, but apparently some months spent apart had really done some good to his maturity level. Because at that moment Ron did something that she'd been hoping for, begging for, incessantly praying for throughout the years. Perhaps it would have been a welcome gesture a few months ago, hell, even a few weeks ago. But now, after everything that had happened, Hermione was just mortified.

Because Ron had pulled out a little black box out of his pocket.

If people hadn't been staring at them before, they were definitely staring at them now. Hermione's cheeks burned. This was the last thing she'd wanted to happen here in front of masses of people! Hell, she'd come here to break up with the guy once and for all, not try to get married to him! He opened up the box before her and in it laid the most beautifully carved ring she'd ever seen. It was silver, adorned with diamonds, but simple enough to suit her tastes.

That little evil voice in the back of her head asked her if it would be a crime to just take it. Sure, it would mean that she would be engaged to someone that she'd wanted to get rid of completely for a couple of months now, but what was so wrong with that? He wasn't a bad guy, after all. She'd established that already. He'd take care of her and he'd be a good father to any children they might have. He wouldn't get in the way of her career.

It was a lovely solution to a ridiculous problem. No one had to be alone...

"I want you to marry me, Hermione," he said, his smile widening. She hadn't thought it was possible to see him smile that brightly at her. The only thing he smiled like _that _for were the Chudley Cannons and his mother's cooking. Not her. Definitely not her. Perhaps it was a sign that he really had changed. "I want you to be my wife."

And then reality kicked in.

"What is _wrong_ with you? Are you bloody _insane?" _she hissed, trying not to stare around her because she knew every pair of eyes in the restaurant were plastered to her face. They were all waiting for her to take the ring, because of course – who wouldn't want to marry a sexy redhead? "Put it away!"

A flash of hurt crossed his face, but she couldn't even care because now the reality of the situation had kicked in. Ronald Weasley had purposed to her and she had to say no. For obvious reasons. Moreover, she was still sitting at dinner with him, when she ought to be running out the door and screaming into bloody traffic. But she couldn't even move her feet, let alone stand up and actually _run. _

He didn't put away the cursed ring. Instead, he brought it closer to her face, as if this would compel her to accept it. She wanted to shout at him to stop being forceful, to stop being ridiculous for once in his life, or to maybe tell her to fuck off so that her limbs could start moving once more. But none of that happened. Instead, he opened his mouth.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" he asked. She considered it. She _really _considered it and it was true. It had been what she had wanted for a very long time. But how could she tell him that that wasn't the case anymore? "You wanted me to grow up and get my act together and now I have. Take the ring, Hermione... This is what you want."

Was this what she wanted, though? It could have been before. She knew she had longed for it to happen – to be married to the one man in her life so that he could stop running away from their problems at every opportunity. She had imagined an easy life with him. She knew he loved her and she loved him too, in her own way. They would have their small cozy little house, two or three kids, and well paying jobs.

They would grow old together and their children would go to Hogwarts and also be successful. And then they'd sit on their lovely little porch in rocking chairs and tell old tales to their grandchildren. It was a lovely picture, one that she'd always imagined. He would be sweet and she would be everything he needed.

He was offering her that now.

But now that she had the offer before her, she knew it was as just a _fantasy. _It wouldn't happen like that. People didn't sit in rocking chairs on their porches and they sure as hell weren't that happy. At least, she wouldn't be with Ron. He would criticize her and she'd nag him about every little thing he'd do wrong. Which would be many. He'd still leave – nothing would change that.

Sure, he might come back once in a while. But he'd leave nonetheless.

She took a breath and hoped to God that she wouldn't hyperventilate in front of all of these people. She was still frozen, of course, but a sudden onset of clarity swept through her mind. Whatever her future was, it wasn't with this man. This much she had established and this much she had to let him know. That was what she'd come here to do today, wasn't it?

"Come on, Hermione," Ron finally snapped impatiently. "Take the ring. Everyone's staring."

"_No," _she said, finally breaking.

It was a good thing that everyone seemed shocked, including their waiter as well as Ron himself. Otherwise, someone might have deigned to stop her as she fled the restaurant and right out of Diagon alley.

/

Draco was panting and it was disgusting, but he just couldn't help himself. It was as if standing up had put him short of breath, which was just fucking pathetic if anyone bothered to ask him. But obviously his body didn't care about what he had to say, because it was fucking with him anyway. Treacherous thing that it was, it lived to betray him.

Perhaps his body was taking its revenge on him for all of those years that he'd mistreated it. What, with all the alcohol abuse and the occasional partaking of drugs...

Draco began to sway on the spot. He was currently hunched in front of his office's bathroom mirror, trying not to puke. Bart was waiting for him somewhere outside so that they could go meet Flaharty. He had to be composed for this because this really was their last shot at success. After this, they'd have nothing. Or more specifically, _Draco _would have nothing. Bart could always move on from this train wreck, but where would Draco go?

No one would want him if he didn't have his father's company. He didn't have his good looks anymore. He didn't have any charm or humor, nor did he have any friends. Hell, he barely had coherency, if that was worth anything these days. He couldn't even be a prat anymore, he was just too bloody tired all the time. Nothing was working for him and he was essentially broke now.

All he had was this wretched pain and what was that worth? He was pathetic.

He shuddered as his body began to throb and burn from being denied its one wish. His stomach started to churn and he felt like he would vomit. Well, he reasoned, it was better to empty his stomach here than it was to wait until later and empty it all over Flaharty's lap. That would definitely ensure that things would go poorly for him in the future.

He tightened his grip on the edge of the sink, trying to balance himself. His lungs started to burn from the effort of breathing, so he just closed his eyes and stopped. He wasn't a human and therefore he didn't need to breathe. No human could suffer this much pain and still be alive, could they? No, he was _otherworldly, _of that he was certain. His disposition was strong even as it was weak and –

Draco retched again, bile spilling from his mouth and into the porcelain sink.

It was a brown, chunky substance, as if he had spewed forth parts of his intestine and not just bile. His eyes began to swim, but even in that condition he couldn't mistake the red that spattered the inside of the sink. It was blood, clearly. As clear as he was still alive, he'd fucking puked up blood. That had to be bad, right? He considered it as he rinsed the sink and his mouth clean, his hands shaking.

There was no need to panic, he reasoned. He'd seen this coming from a mile away. He was probably going to die and perhaps that was okay. He could... potentially deal with it if it came to that. But now wasn't the time to panic about it. Everyone died, right? Everyone eventually came to it, even if they were young.

Draco was just too tired and in too much pain to be afraid.

Besides, there was no more time left to rush off to St. Mungos at this point. He had his meeting to attend to and that was more important than getting poked at with needles and having wands waved in his face. Draco knew what his body needed and St. Mungos couldn't provide that for him. So, naturally, the best course of action he could take for now was to move on with things as if nothing was wrong.

Like how he'd been doing for the majority of his life, anyway. He was rather good at it by now, a professional. The thought steadied him like nothing else could. He knew that he could make it long enough to accomplish what needed to be done at the very least. He could feel it in his bones. Even though he was still clutching the sink like it was his life support, and even though he looked like shit scraped out from under one's shoe, he knew he could live long enough to prove to Hermione Granger that he was fucking worth _something. _

Staring at himself in the mirror was surreal at that moment. He was the same person he'd always been, of course, but perhaps he'd never looked this closely before. His grip tightened and his knuckles turned a deathly white, but his gaze did not waver from his reflection. It was there, alright, the ugly truth. This was who he was. A sickened ghost who had been denied everything important in life.

Except now it showed on the surface, not just buried deep within him.

But that was alright, thought Draco. That was _completely _alright. Because Hermione had seen it and had still talked to him. She had known who he was before he'd fucked everything up and she hadn't turned him away because of it. That must mean something. Perhaps it did or perhaps he was entirely delusional.

It didn't matter by that point. The thought had given him enough strength to stand up straighter and exit the washroom. And even though every body of his body ached and felt like was being stabbed with molten hot lava, and even though he was certain that his lungs were collapsing on him, the thought gave him the reassurance that he was going to make it through.

No matter what happened and even if he _did _die from the exertion, he was going to make it through this one last thing. It had to happen. This much he had promised himself. This much he would swear on his mother's grave. That had to mean something, right?

He swore he felt a bone break as Bart apparated him to the club.

/

Hermione had only just managed to slam her door shut before she heard Ron banging on it, demanding that he be let in. At first it was just irritating, but she knew that he'd give up and go home eventually. He'd always done so in the past, after all. This wasn't exactly anything _new _in their book, if they even had a book.

But it was as if she didn't even know him anymore, as if a few months apart had changed Ron into the person she had wanted him to be _before _she had grown over him. However, one thing about him hadn't changed one bit. He was as impatient as ever and quick to anger – something she had always loathed about him.

"Will you just bloody open this goddamn door already?" he nearly yelled. She had half a mind to just cast a silencing charm and be done with it. "Hermione! I swear..."

"What? What can you _possibly _do, Ronald?" she snapped. Honestly, it was as if he was a five year old again – another thing she had absolutely _despised _about him. "Are you going to force me to elope with you so you can go home to your mother?"

He didn't say anything for a moment, as if he had had to gather his thoughts. She had to admit, it was a cruel thing to have said to him. He really was trying, after all, but she didn't exactly take kindly to people banging on her door. It hadn't worked with Draco and it certainly wasn't going to work with Ron. What was it with people these days, anyway? Didn't they get the message? A closed door meant _go away. _

"Please?" he finally said quietly when he couldn't come up with anything else. "We can talk about this like civilized human beings. Let me in."

But she was distracted by that point, for she caught a picture of Draco on the front cover of her unread Daily Prophet, still sitting on the window sill. It was as if her body had moved across the room on its own accord, reaching the paper and opening it before her body had even given her permission to. She didn't even have time to think about it before her eyes were devouring the article.

_MALFOY INDUSTRIES IN RUIN?_

_With the death of Lucius Malfoy earlier this year, Malfoy Industries – a multimillion dollar corporation – has seen many changes with its new Chief Executive Officer Draco Malfoy making many confusing changes. Beyond drastic changes in the official board of members and the refusal to bring the family owned company public, Malfoy Industries has seen a tough year in sales. Reportedly, profits have been estimated at a decrease of twenty-three percent. Official numbers have not yet been stated by a company representative. _

_Furthermore, a source has revealed that a long time employee Blaise Zabini has left Malfoy Industries for better prospects, though he was present at the company's most recent public event held at the Malfoy Manor. Whether this is a sign of trouble for the company has yet to be seen. The Daily Prophet was not able to get a statement from either Mr. Malfoy or Mr. Zabini for this issue. _

_Turn to page 6 for more on Malfoy Gala. _

Above the article was a picture of Draco standing next to Zabini at the party that had apparently been a fiasco from what she could remember. At least, it had been for her. Nevertheless, he looked dashing. Alive. So bloody handsome that she could feel herself flushing red. He smiled up at her from the picture, grinning like how she could only imagine he had from the other side of her apartment door.

She couldn't stop herself from running her thumb over his face. It was an intimate gesture, far too intimate for anyone else to view. She had never been gladder that she hadn't let Ron in – even though he was making a lot of noise out there in the hallway. The bastard was still banging away at the door like an idiot.

She could only imagine what Draco was going through right now. His best friend had left him and he was bearing the full responsibility of his company on his own shoulders. She didn't even know how he was doing! He had never once told her in all of his beautifully written letters and she hadn't asked. Hell, _she _had told him that none of his words mattered.

She felt a bout of shame rush through her.

Gods, she was a horrible person. So bloody horrible. Draco was probably drowning in his own sorrows and all she'd done was add another problem to his plate because some psychotic bitch had played a nasty trick on him. After all, it wasn't entirely his fault that Carmen had... Well, Carmen had pulled a smart one over the both of them, that was all.

She couldn't take her words back now. It was far too late for that. She would have to come up with another solution somehow, something that would help him. She had an inkling of what might work, even if the chances were rather slim. But it was nearly impossible to think with Ron still banging on her door, demanding that she open it.

"Will you bloody _shut the fuck up?_" she finally shouted at Ron, drawing out her wand just in case she had to silence the door.

"I will once you open the door," he said. His tone was way too smug for his own good.

So she did what any sane and rational person would do. She marched up to the door, wrenched it open, slapped him has hard as she could and slammed the door right back in his face. He was probably shocked has hell, but it wasn't as if she gave a fuck. One did not simply walk to someone's door and demand to be let in. She would consider speaking to him again when he learned some manners.

"Don't make me write to your mother, Ronald Weasley," she said loud enough for him to hear.

Then, after she had silenced her entire flat, she quickly found a sheet of parchment and some ink. It was with some trepidation that she began the letter, for she had no idea what to say. She didn't really have much experience with such things and she really would not be the least bit surprised if he sent back a howler for her. Nevertheless, she had to do this. So she took a deep breath and began.

_Mr. Zabini,_

_I've recently come to know that you've left Malfoy Industries..._

/

Draco tried his best not to grunt as pain literally flashed before his eyes. He could see himself dying, he was that far gone. It wasn't even that he could _feel _the pain anymore, he was that out of it. But he tried his best to perservere. It wouldn't do to fuck up now. Not when he'd endured all of this thus far. He had to endure it, just for a little while longer.

At least, that's what he told himself to get through it.

Regardless, he knew that everyone present was aware of his condition. He wasn't sure what they thought was wrong with him, but it was obvious that they knew he was in bad shape. They could see the stains on his knees from where he had continuously rubbed his clammy hands over them. They could see him sweating. They could see as he occasionally clenched his teeth, tremor, turn red and then immediately whiter than was healthy.

"...Have made many investments," Flaharty was saying. He could see Bart nodding out of the corner of his eye, but he honestly had no idea what the fuck was going on. He knew he ought to have drank a couple of shots of firewhisky to calm his nerves before getting here, but he knew that that would also have increased the likelihood of him puking everywhere. "I am not convinced that tying myself to you once again is... the _best _idea, if you understand me, Mr. Malfoy."

The tone was as aggravating and condescending as he remembered.

Because Mr. Flaharty had been a member of the board at Malfoy Industries for over two decades before Draco had had the idiotic idea to fire him. Draco had known the man since he had been born, of course. His father had worked with him and the man had been over to the Manor dozens of times. He had almost been a family friend, but of _course _he wouldn't ever have taken that title. He was, after all, Lucius Malfoy's right hand business man.

And Draco had fired him without a second thought to the matter. Of course the fellow would be annoyed and condescending. He didn't technically need Draco. The man was probably rich as fuck and didn't give a damn about anything else but his money and his pride. Draco had deprived him of both of those things.

It was obvious that he was going to have to grovel for forgiveness.

Though, that was clearly not the problem. The problem was staying conscious long enough to do so. Draco had no pride left anymore, after all. Hermione had stripped that right off of him. So, he tried to sit up straighter and pay attention. He tried not to grimace. But worse of all, he tried his very best not to scream. That last action was taking up all of his attention and energy.

"Sir, with all due respect..." What was he going to say? He had to say something and that something had to be bloody fantastic. But what was appropriate in this situation? Fuck! He was drawing at a blank. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. "I'm... I'm very young. And wholly inexperienced."

Goddamnit. His voice had cracked. He shivered as a great pressure began to build at the base of his spine. He had the urge to bend over and curl up faced down into the plush carpet on the floor. But he couldn't do that now. He had to come up with something _brilliant. _But what was brilliant, anyway? He just had to get this man to see his way of things.

"It was..._I _was very foolish in thinking I could run an empire you helped build with my father," Draco said slowly and in as low as possible voice he could muster. He really did not want to have the man think he was going through puberty for fucks sake. "I cannot tell you how sorry I am."

It was a good thing Meredith had pointed out that people actually liked humility, because he could see Flaharty's eyes soften and his chest puff out ever so slightly. The man _was _proud after all. All Draco had to do now was coax his ego. Right? That was what he had gathered from their conversations, anyway. Beyond that, Draco was as lost as could be. Perhaps if this failed, he could crucio the fucker into helping him. That had always worked for Voldemort, it could probably work for him too.

"Even if you don't want to fully commit yourself to the company again, I do hope you will venture to help save it from what it's going to become. I really doubt any of us will survive without the guidance of someone as _experienced _and _valuable _as you..." Draco said, trailing off. "Isn't that right, Bart?"

Bart eagerly nodded. "Mr. Lucius always spoke fondly of you whenever he had the opportunity."

"Which were many," Draco added. "I won't waste any more of your time, but I do hope you consider this... It would bring honor to my father's memory."

Draco thought he might have thrown up a little in his mouth at saying that. It was entirely too manipulative. He wasn't even sure where it had come from, but it had definitely worked on Flaharty all too well. He seemed to actually be considering them now because he was actually _staring _at them with a sharper eye. He had come here because the son of his old friend had coerced him to. Now, he was actually considering drinking the kool-aid.

"I shall think on it," he offered finally as Draco tried his best not to cringe under the man's stare. He knew that Flaharty could see every single one of his flaws in that moment, for nothing escaped the man's eyes when he was making a business investment. Even the tiniest details, like the fact Draco hadn't shaved in exactly four and a half days because he hadn't been able to steady his hands. "If you do not mind me asking, are you ill?"

Draco could only curtly nod. "Unfortunately."

"Ah," responded Flaharty, as if looking like a corpse was the most natural thing in the world. To his credit, however, Flaharty did not ask any more questions or probe where it was not required. Perhaps he knew that Draco was about to die. Perhaps he was just being polite. "Then you must rest up before I see you next. I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement..."

And after that, Draco did not remember much. He recalled Bart subtly helping him up so that he could shake Flaharty's hand. He remembered collapsing the second Flaharty had exited the room. He vaguely remembered retching, tears stinging his eyes as his gag reflex was irritated. Bart must have dragged him into the loo, because the next thing he knew he was once again kneeling in front of a toilet, puking his guts out.

It was disgusting, if the smell was anything to go by.

His throat ached and his nose was running. But even through the haze, he could smell the stench of bile. It was unavoidable, as pervasive as the smell was. Perhaps it was a bad sign that he was already used to it by now. He _had _been throwing up for weeks now. Ever since Hermione had told him to go away. He had never understood how girls could make themselves throw up just to get skinny. Now he understood that one simply got used to the action.

Mind you, it never got pleasant. He knew from experience that after each of these episodes, he looked paler, more gaunt. Every muscle in his body would then decide to ache and he would be able to feel the pounding of his own heart against his ears. And then, he'd have to stare down at the mess he'd made and try to make himself care that he was obviously dying.

Because it was all black covered in spatters of red.

It was like he was vomiting up the tar that he'd dreamed of all those days ago. The dream that had caused everything to disintegrate – because everything _was _disintegrating. But he couldn't think about that _now. _He had to hold himself together if he wanted to get anywhere. He couldn't just pass out here and dream of it again. Where would he be then? Disintegrating _and _insane?

He calmly flushed the toilet and shakily stood up, ignoring when his knees and ankles cracked painfully. It didn't matter that the action had left him drained of what little strength he had and had left him with a slight limp. He could deal with those things. On the other hand, he _couldn't _deal with the panic that was now rising within him because he was sure he was about to hyperventilate and burst into tears once again.

"Bart," he called out in a choked voice. The man poked his head in through the door, which for some reason had been unlocked. Perhaps the bastard didn't trust him enough to leave him to his own devices. "Time for us to head back to the office."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather go home?" Bart questioned with a raised brow. "Or you know, maybe see a medi-wizard?"

"Just apparate me the fuck to the office!" Draco snarled. He really didn't have the patience for Bart's most sarcastically helpful suggestions at the moment. He was starting to lose feeling in everything below the hips and that was as bad a sign as any. "And then you can go home. Do whatever the hell you like."

"Whatever you say..." Bart once again shrugged, but Draco could see the look of uncertainty and apprehension on his face. Nonetheless, he did as he was told and held his arm out. "Whenever you're ready, sir."

Draco never really could remember what came to pass in those next few hours of his life, even when he thought about it as long and hard as possible. It seemed to him as if he had lived through one long blank stretch of horrendous pain. It had consumed him. Perhaps Bart had stayed with him in his office to make sure he didn't choke on his own bile, or perhaps Bart had left him there as he had asked.

Perhaps he had simply slept through the pain. There definitely were stretches of his memory that had no pain, no memory, simply blankness. Draco wasn't sure which was worse, not remembering the pain that had obviously been there or knowing that he had succumbed to it.

He saw many things in his haze, though nothing was entirely clear. There was much black and equally as much red. Occasionally, some white would flash through his vision and those were the times that hurt the worse. Those particular moments caused him to twist in his seat and cry out for his mother, even though he was well aware that she wasn't about to come and help him through this.

And then there were the moments that seemed so damn clear that he swore he was lucid. If only the unearthly quality of his vision hadn't given them away for what they truly were – Figments of his imagination. He saw her in all her glory, even though he knew she wasn't _really _there. After all, it definitely didn't matter enough for her to be there.

_I wish it mattered. _

She had whispered it to him in his ear with a smile and she had caressed his cheek so sweetly, he thought he might just die from the pleasure. If only there hadn't been such a searing pain that had followed it afterwards. His skin burned and festered. He thought he felt blood bubble up from the wound she had left behind, but it turned out it was only his tears.

He saw his father as he had been before the war. Before Draco had hated him. He even saw his mother there, standing proudly behind Lucius, as she had always done when she had been alive. He could even see how Lucius was grasping her hand, as if he'd _actually _loved her. Which he hadn't, because that would be foolish to expect from someone like Lucius.

Nevertheless, Draco fell for the illusion.

"Look," Draco said. "I'm finally working now. I'm saving your company, now. My company. Are you proud? I've stepped into your shadow like you've always wanted."

"_I wish it mattered," _Hermione whispered into his ear from beside him somewhere. He couldn't see her, but he could feel her lips press against him, just below his ear. He saw his father smile benignly at him, as if he wasn't even there. His mother was gone somehow. Lucius's hand was still extended behind him as if he was still expecting to hold his wife's hand. But she was dead, wasn't she? "_It doesn't matter." _

And then they were all gone and Blaise was shaking him roughly. This caused Draco to gasp in pain and turn whiter than snow. He gripped Blaise's arms and could see Blaise's mouth moving indicating that he was talking, but Draco couldn't hear a thing. Perhaps his visions had left him deaf. Or perhaps it was the pain that had rendered his hearing useless.

"Stop," he managed to gasp. "Fuck! _Stop!" _

Blaise let go, so it was obvious that he hadn't lost his ability to speak. That was comforting at the very least. That was good news. He heaved a sigh when Blaise stepped away from him and it was as if by magic that his ears popped painfully. He could hear Blaise ranting about... well, stuff, probably.

"...Shouldn't have left like that," he was saying. "It was foolish of me, especially since you have no idea what you're _doing._"

"Thanks," Draco muttered weakly, not entirely sure if he was still dreaming or not. Blaise seemed rather real and he wasn't _glowing. _So perhaps he was lucid after all. Nevertheless, he'd be wary just in case. He'd know for sure once Blaise's face started melting again. "Just what I need to hear. What the hell are you doing here, anyway?"

"Granger wrote me a letter," Blaise said distractedly.

Draco scoffed. "Does she wishes it mattered?"

"What?" asked Blaise clearly confused. He gave Draco a once over, as if just noticing how shitty his friend looked. "You doing okay, mate?"

Draco waved his hand as if it was of no consequence, which Blaise seemed to accept without question. That in itself was strange, but perhaps Blaise had seen him in worse situations. Perhaps Draco had sat in this very chair, hung over way too many times to count. Or maybe Blaise just had too many problems of his own to worry about what was going on with Draco.

Blaise was still talking about this and that, but Draco couldn't hear anymore, because the pain in his spine had flared up again. It was odd, though, for he had no urge to throw up. Perhaps his body had just been drained of just about everything. Finally, his stomach was empty of everything. He thought he saw Hermione sitting on the arm of his chair in that white dress he'd peaked her in that one time.

"_It hurts,"_ Draco whispered to her.

"_It won't matter," _she whispered back with a smile.

He raised his hands to his lips and found blood when he pulled his hand away. It was a startling deep red, the kind that staring at made him entirely too dizzy. And this was it, he thought. This was the end for him. Nothing else mattered besides the fact that he was about to faint and never wake up again. He hadn't even gotten to say goodbye...

But then he realized that he already _had _said goodbye and that Hermione had been entirely right. It really _didn't _matter because he knew in his heart that when he reached the other side that she'd be waiting for him. She'd be there in exactly the same get up that he'd seen her the first time he'd laid eyes on her, when fate had somehow brought them together again.

He'd die and Hermione would be there for him.

As he slumped to the floor, he heard someone shout his name and a pair of feet running towards him. But for the life of him, he wasn't sure if it was Blaise or Hermione who was coming to lay him to rest one final time.

**A/N: And another cliffhanger. Unlike the last chapter, this one was planned from the moment I started writing this story. So, what did you think? Please let me know! Three chapters left to go. Here's a spoiler to tide you over: **

_**The lights were entirely too bright. He knew he'd always be going to hell for he'd never been an upstanding citizen, but fuck those lights were bright! **_

**Unsigned Reviews: **

**Chocolateice: **Thank you for your enthusiastic review! Hope your question was answered to your satisfaction.

**Anon: **You had a good guess, but it was only halfway there. Thank you for reviewing!

**HPLLDMHGfanforever: **I do hope you continue with this one at the very least! I hope this chapter wasn't overly disappointing. I would hate for you to lose hope in all authors just because of my work. Thank you for reviewing. :)

**Lazy Daisy: **The song selection for the last chapter was done by Band of Horses – whose lead singer I believe is Ben Bridwell. Not sure whether it was played at Drew Barrymore's wedding though! Hope that helps.

**Semantics: **I have to say, it's insanely good to hear from you again! Some of your observations are just so dead on that I feel as if I could not have said it better myself (Mostly about Draco and Hermione and my writing style – though I did originally write this story to practise writing smut. You shall see why eventually). I think perhaps with this chapter you might find your perception of Ron changing slightly – though up to this point your observations were more than valid. I'm very glad you're enjoying this – as expected some of the things might have been. I shan't ramble on here since this is getting entirely too long, but thank you for taking the time to write a review. It means a lot. :)


	14. Closer

A/N: This is the moment you've all been waiting for. For those of you who've listened to the playlist I've posted probably saw this coming. Then again, a lot of you probably saw this coming. **THIS IS A LONG CHAPTER!**

Thank you to all my reviewers: Colorful Magic, ISitHere, abby, cliffhangersMakeMeCrazy, Talis Ruadair, Khoes, reader204, lovealan, linalove, Ms. Lous Cordice Zabini, DZAuthor AKA DZMom, fspsarcastic, PrettyChelsea, TwinzLover, glitterboden, Venetiangrl92, HermionenDraco368, HarryPGinnyW4eva, Mondo89, Rose Eleanor Schultz, semantics, JaspersEmotionalGirl, amesthystfirechik, Hilda9Achillius9Fitra, Vaneesa85, SimpsonSortia, Aristocratic Assassin, HP-Princess1, jessloveshpseries, bella Malfoy Cullen, and buttercup.

**WARNING: RATED M FOR MATURE CONTENT. DISCRETION IS ADVISED. **

_**Song Selection for this Chapter: Closer by Nine Inch Nails**_

**Chapter Fourteen: Closer**

Draco's first conscious experience was an interesting one. Of course, it would have been interesting for any human by all accounts, for Draco had woken up in a vortex. Only, it wasn't exactly how one would expect a vortex to look like. There were no swirling winds, no gasping for air, no being tossed around and falling into infinity. No, there was only a tight seal around him and his body.

One that he probably couldn't break.

He wasn't suffocating – yet – but it sure as hell wasn't comfortable. Everything was dark, yet some things were glowing. Which made no fucking sense. If things _had _to be black, why the hell would there be things _glowing? _Someone had obviously put the lights there to fuck with his mind. Or to help him adjust. Either way, the green and white lights were soft, so it wasn't too much of a bother.

Draco was neither hungry nor nauseas. He no longer felt dizzy or in any kind of pain. Yes, his body was still throbbing, but he wasn't sure what that meant. It didn't really feel like much of anything, if he was being completely honest. If he didn't know any better, he'd have claimed that he was on drugs. But that wasn't possible, of course. There was no medication for the pain that he had been going through. Otherwise, the doctors would've given them to him the first time he'd gone to St. Mungos.

So that obviously only left one alternative. He was dead.

He was thinking to himself, yet he was dead. Which was interesting as hell, of course, that one retained one's consciousness when passing to the other side. He had a vague sense of self, though he couldn't be arsed to try to move. He really was tired after all – did dead people have the ability to feel tired? And he was confused.

But of course, who _wouldn't _be confused in the kind of situation that he was in? He was dead for fucks sake, that had to raise _some _questions, even if he was tired. Things began to become blurry, literally ripple in front of his vision. So that was good news, he could see. Even though the experience was completely insane, watching one's vision completely distort with one's own eyes.

Then suddenly there were stars, so many breathtaking stars that he could barely breathe from the sight. Well, he could barely breathe in general, but he wasn't really complaining. Taking a breath probably would have ruined the vision, anyway. Was this heaven? Was heaven really among the stars? Was _he _among the stars? He had no answers to his questions and there wasn't anyone around to answer them for him in any case.

Only, there was.

"You could come back, you know," a woman whispered somewhere around him. He tried to turn his head – if he even had a head – to see who it was, but he couldn't move. The invisible bindings that constricted his body only tightened, strapping him in place. "You could come and live here with us if you really wanted to..."

"How?" he asked, his voice breathy. He hadn't even known he _could _speak, let alone remember that he had a mouth to speak with. "How can I come back?"

"You would have to earn it...Can you?"

Draco tried to shake his head but he had forgotten that he couldn't _move_ his head. Even if he could, it would have required too much effort. But the lady, whoever she was, seemed to know that and seemed to know what he was trying to tell her as well. Perhaps she was a God. Did Gods really exist then? Or was she just as powerful as one? What an odd question to think, that was. If Gods did exist, and if she really was a God, then he most certainly _was _dead.

If there was ever an odd thought in his head, it had to be that one for sure. It was surreal, almost. Almost. He was dead and he was thinking about it. It was like he had chosen this. And perhaps in a way he had. He had left behind just about everything. There would be no Blaise, no Bart, no strippers here. At least, none that he could see so far.

And there was no Hermione Granger.

There probably never would be a Hermione Granger wherever he was going. It was obvious that fate thought them incompatible. Why else would he be dead right now? For some reason, the thought didn't sadden him. Hell, he didn't even feel anything at all. It was like he had left behind his feelings the minute he had crossed through the veil to the other side.

And now he really _was _on the other side, wasn't he? There was nothing else to it. This was one door even _he_ couldn't open, even if he wanted to. People didn't come back from the dead and it was obvious that he wasn't a ghost. Would he even want to be a ghost? Probably not. Ghosts were pathetic. At least in his book they were. All they did was float and moan about things that were long past. He had better things to do.

Like sleep.

So he tried, he honestly did. But sleep did not come to him, at least not in the fashion that things like that normally did. He only remained in that same stupor that he had found himself in when he'd gotten here. Or perhaps he'd always been in such a state and had never noticed it. Maybethis is what being dead felt like.

Well, it wasn't so bad. Nothing to be afraid of, at least.

"You have to leave now," said the woman suddenly.

If he had still retained the ability to be startled, he would have jumped. But as it was, he was still in his drugged comatose state and couldn't find it in himself to even be mildly surprised. All he could do was simply stare into the sky – if it was a sky at all – and gaze at the stars like a tired old fool. The lady, for it had to be the lady, was stroking his hair and muttering. She touched the side of his face and rubbed his chin. The gesture didn't feel awkward, but then, he really didn't know what awkward was anymore.

"I am sorry," she said, the lady. He didn't know why she was apologizing. Was there ever anything to be sorry for? Perhaps. Perhaps not. He was leaning towards the second. "Maybe one day you can return here. But for now, you must go."

_I can't move, _Draco wanted to tell her. And it was still true, he couldn't move. He could barely breathe if he was breathing at all. _I can't speak. _Which wasn't that odd if he thought about it. The dead weren't supposed to speak. And if they could, they ought not to speak to Gods at the very least. _I can't see. _

And the stars were gone.

He was once again back in the vortex where there was an unbreakable seal. At least he knew _he _couldn't break it. He wasn't aware existing, let alone being able to move. But he had resigned himself to the fact that this was where he belonged. Perhaps for the rest of eternity in this stupor of his. After all, the God had abandoned him here. He wasn't worthy to live in the calm heaven filled with stars, so he'd have to stay in the vortex with no air and no way out.

Except, he didn't really deserve to be there either, apparently, for the next thing he knew was pain. There were lights, burning bright lights that were melting his eyes in their sockets. And possibly the skin from his nonexistent face. The lights were entirely too bright. He knew he'd always be going to hell, for he'd never been an upstanding citizen, but fuck those lights were bright!

"You can come back one day," the woman said. Her voice was so far away, he could barely make out the words. "One day I'll see you again."

A flash of realization came over him as he recognized the voice. It was his mother, of that he was now sure. But before he could attempt to use his fading voice to call her back, the lights became brighter and glowed to such intensity that all he could do was scream out instead. He didn't remember doing so, in any case. But he did know he had endured worse. Because he _was _otherworldly, especially now that he was dead.

And then, Draco knew no more.

/

Hermione had been in the middle of getting ready for bed when she heard a knocking on her door. For a second, she considered ignoring it, staring longingly at her toothbrush. She could pretend she wasn't home or pretend she was sleeping. And then she wouldn't have to deal with whoever it was out there. They could always come back, yes? Yes, they always could.

She wasn't that important, anyway.

She stood there, frozen on the spot, hoping that whoever it was would just go away. It was rather silly, though, because it wasn't like they could see or hear her from where she was standing in her bathroom. Nonetheless, she wasn't in the mood for company, not today. Maybe not for a long time. She would rather just be alone and randomly weep if she so desired. Not that she was planning to cry herself to sleep, or anything. But it was nice to have the option there if she so desired.

But then she realized that it could actually be someone important at her door, someone who needed her help. Like Ginny in a crisis. Or Padma in need of someone to urgently look over an article. Or even Draco – not that she was admitting to wanting to take care of him or anything like that. That was an entirely unfounded and ridiculous notion. Of course she didn't have any substantial feelings for him!

It could possibly be her parents, she thought, distracting herself from the panic inducing thoughts. Not that that possibility was a likely one, but she just needed an excuse to answer the door now, just in case it actually _was _Draco. Her parents in their old age were slightly paranoid. Her mother especially would make sure to confirm their visits at least eight times in advance. Just in case, of course. Now Hermione was finally able to appreciate their preparedness.

It was obvious even to Hermione – who was admittedly in denial – who she really wanted to be on the other side of her annoying apartment door. It wouldn't be the end of the world if the boy who must never be named decided to give her a random visit. It would just be normal, as normal as those things went, anyway. More importantly, it would make her _happy. _

Hermione realized that she'd made up her mind about answering the door ever since she'd heard the knocking. It had probably been unconscious on her part as most important things were these days, but she wasn't going to let that stop her. So, setting down her toothbrush, she padded her way lightly to the door, just in case she actually did want to ignore whoever it was. They knocked again, louder this time, and Hermione shuddered. She didn't know why.

This was probably one of the most important moments in her life. She was going to make history right about now. Of course, this little piece of history would only matter to her in the long run, but why the hell did that matter anyway? She lightly gripped the door knob. No more talking through wood. No more trying to guess if he was actually joking or being sarcastic. No more imagining how his skin would feel.

She wrenched open the door...

...and was immediately disappointed.

Because it wasn't Draco Malfoy waiting for her outside of her apartment. It wasn't even Prince Charming or someone she wanted to see like Ginny or Padma. No, instead she was greeted with her immensely drunk ex-boyfriend, who had taken it upon himself to sit in front of her flat. Leaning obscenely against her wall with his legs splayed and several bottles of firewhisky around him. How long had he even been there?

"Ron?" she called to him, trying to determine if he was awake. He tried to wave at her but failed pathetically. Well, at least this time Hermione knew why she was shuddering. "What are you doing here?"

"Why'd you leave me, 'mione?" he asked. "You just left me and everyone stared!"

She rolled her eyes, trying her best not to rush back inside and just leave him there. She did have one neighbour after all. What would the old woman think if she found a drunk outside in her hall? Hermione didn't want a flood of Aurors here. She'd had enough attention from the news as it was, she was going to try her best to keep future contact to a minimum.

"What do you want, Ron?" she asked. She really tried to be patient, she really did. But she wasn't in the mood to deal with any of this right now. She just wanted to go inside and jump into bed. Perhaps she _would _cry herself to sleep. Who knew? Apparently, she only attracted drunkards and men with commitment issues. "I have to go."

"C'mon baby," he slurred up at her with a grin on his face. "Don't be like that. You know I love you, sweetheart."

Hermione sighed. She wasn't annoyed. She was just... Alright, she was annoyed. But what difference would that make to Ron Weasley anyway? He probably wouldn't remember any of this in the morning, so what difference did it make if she just hexed him and ran off back inside? He'd be sore, but he'd never assume it was her. She was supposed to be innocent, after all.

"You need to go now," she said wearily. When he didn't even look up, she began to tap her bare foot against the stone ground, crossing her arms over her chest. What was his problem, anyway? "Ron! You seriously need to go now."

But by then he was snoring and she wasn't inclined to wake him up. He could be sore in the morning for all she cared. He deserved it for coming to her bloody apartment like this. Who did he think he was, anyway? Just because he had _finally _mustered up the courage to propose, she was just supposed to fall at his feet and thank him for his amazing self? She considered just leaving him there to freeze, but then decided against it. The wrath of Molly Weasley wasn't pleasant, after all.

So, she turned away to find the fucker a blanket. Only, she didn't get that far.

Before she could even step away from the door, there was an unusual tapping at her window. Turning around, she found an abnormally large tawny owl tapping its huge yellow beak at the glass. It was staring at her rudely with one huge yellow eye, as if annoyed that she was taking so long to receive her mail.

She was a little bit apprehensive approaching the window. Yes, it was rather silly to be afraid of an owl – she had a wand, after all – but it was one creepy looking creature. It had to be as large as an average sized bird house at the _very _least and it had the oddest colouring. As if it had been magically altered to look this hideous. Nevertheless, she had to answer it. It could be from someone important, though she didn't know anyone with an owl like _that. _

She had barely opened the window when the monstrous thing dropped a folded piece of parchment at her feet and flew away right back out the window. In a way, she was relieved. Mostly, she was just curious. Who was sending her mail at this time of night, and who the hell kept such an ugly owl around as a pet?

She wondered if she even ought to touch it. She _had _received her fair share of hate mail over the years, she supposed. It wasn't worth it to risk her hands or her health just to sate her curiosity. Nonetheless, she _was _curious. So, after fetching her wand and running various detection spells, she was even _more _confounded when her search came up blank.

Someone had actually sent her a letter to speak with her. And that someone owned a hideous owl.

The writing was so messy and rushed that she could barely make out the wording. The ink had run in places as if it hadn't been dried properly before it had been sent and the writing was jagged, as if whoever had written it had done it while being jostled or on the move. There was no name to indicate who it was from. In fact, the letter didn't really say much at all. She narrowed her eyes to decipher the words and immediately wished she hadn't.

_Come to Mungos. Draco is gone. _

Gone. Draco Malfoy was _gone. _At first, Hermione could barely move, the shock that had taken over her body was just that great. She wasn't even sure what manic thoughts passed through her mind at that point. She wasn't sure she could make sense of any of it, anyway. All she knew was that the letter, whoever had sent it, said that Draco was gone. She was sure of it, even though it was barely legible. She'd double checked at least a hundred times.

But how could he be gone? Gone where? Gone as in _dead? _How could he possibly be dead? How could he just leave her like that and so randomly? He hadn't even said goodbye. She knew him. If anything, he'd have said goodbye. But...

Hadn't he? Hadn't _she? _Were those letters it, then?

She felt her bones shake and she thought she might just throw up, then. But there was no time for that! There wasn't time for anything now. She had to go find out what had happened. And then she had to make sure that he was treated with dignity and respect. If he was gone – which he obviously wasn't. Unless someone had killed him.

Oh God, what if someone _had _killed him? What if that's what it meant? He wouldn't leave her willingly, would he? If she was even something worth staying for. But then, he needed her for the veela blood if the veela blood was even still in his system. Maybe he was over her and that was it. Maybe... Maybe... Maybe... He probably didn't want her or want to see her at all.

If he was even alive at all.

It didn't matter. None of it fucking _mattered. _He was gone, he had no family left, and she didn't have any idea about his friends. Only that Blaise had left him – so now what? She owed him enough to go now and take care of him, regardless of whether he was dead or alive. Hell, she cared for him enough to do that.

There, she'd admitted it.

Her panic blissfully let her go, then. She was still shaking and trembling, barely able to move, but she was going. Absentmindedly grabbing a sweater and her wand on her way out, she fumbled with the doorknob. For a minute she thought it wouldn't give and that she'd be trapped here forever while Malfoy met whatever horrid fate he'd fallen into. And then blissfully, the slippery thing gave way.

Wrenching it open and bursting into the hallway to the sight of Ron slumped against the wall and singing to himself, she ran to the stairs. She stumbled a few times and a shock of pain travelled up her legs, but she barely paid it mind. She didn't even look back when Ron called out to her, or when she heard him stumble up to come and chase after her.

"Why'd you have to be such a bitch, Hermione?" he shouted after her. He had stumbled too and he had fallen, but Hermione was already gone and she hadn't even stopped to listen. "Hermione!"

By the time she had bounded down four flights of stairs and reached the back alley through which all of the building residents apparated, she was insanely out of breath. More importantly, she was worryingly dizzy. She wasn't sure if it was the exercise or the panic or the lack of food – it was probably a combination of all three. The sign didn't bode well, but she had places to be. Her body would just have to cooperate with her.

Twisting on the spot, she apparated to St. Mungos, a building she'd rarely visited in the past ten years.

She was immediately bombarded with the bright lights, odd sounds, and odder sights that accompanied the waiting room of St. Mungos. She had been here before, of course, so she knew what to expect, but nonetheless the chaos around her really threw her off. She whirled around, searching, but was only met with things that ought not to exist. The place reeked of magic and mistakes, a combination that wasn't quite pleasant.

There was a woman in the corner with a horn for a nose who was making a ruckus. A man was walking around, mumbling and shedding hair like nothing else she'd ever seen. The entire room smelled faintly of burnt rubber, courtesy of a man that had grey charred skin that faintly resembled burnt rubber itself. She could hear a boy that jingled like metal every time he moved and a woman that mysteriously croaked like a frog every thirty seconds.

And there was no one there to help her find her way through the cacophony of noise, smells, and sights.

"Excuse me," she called, running up to a woman in mint green clothing. Didn't healers wear this colour? And the woman was holding a clipboard! That ought to bode well. "Can you help me? Where can I find-"

But Hermione was forced to stop midsentence for the woman had turned around. And the woman was clearly _not _a healer. Her face was twisted, mangled, and dripping strange coloured green pus. Hermione tried not to be rude about the horrible disfigurement, but she was sure it was plastered all over her face. The lady didn't have a nose or Hermione would have assumed that it was all mucus.

Hermione heard the woman growl. "What are you looking at?"

"N-nothing, I just..." Hermione stammered.

"What the bloody fuck are you looking at, you bint?" the woman screeched, green pus flying from her face. Hermione tried her best not to cringe, but it happened anyway. One simply cannot act calm in the face of green pus, especially when it's flying towards one's face. "Who the fuck do you think you are, huh? Think you can just walk up in here and _gawk?" _

"No!" Hermione tried protesting. "I just want to find my friend. He's dying and I just...looking for the information desk...and..."

But it didn't matter because the woman was clearly not paying attention. No, the woman had plopped down somewhere near Hermione's feet and was rocking back and forth. She began to clutch and tug at her hair, which looked rather greasy. Hermione wondered what was wrong with her and if _she _had been the cause of the lady's mental breakdown. A healer came and shoed Hermione away and they carted the lady off.

And Hermione was left standing there, not quite sure what to do.

"You might want to try that desk over there," someone suddenly said. She turned to find an elderly lady sitting next to a young boy with a horrible skin condition. "They could probably tell you where they're keeping your friend."

"Oh." Hermione turned to the desk the lady was pointing at and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you," she managed to shout before making a run towards said desk.

She didn't pause for a response. There wasn't any time to waste here. There were several people bustling about there and none seemed to care that Draco Malfoy was possibly dead or dying. Though of course, why would they? They probably didn't even know him.

"Welcome to St. Mungos, how may I help you?" one of them automatically said when she approached the desk. The fellow didn't even look up. It was fucking surreal.

"I...I need to know where Draco Malfoy is," she managed to spit out.

"Relation?" was the monotonous reply.

"Um..."

"Family relations only, miss. I can write your name down on the visitors list and you may return during visiting hours if your name is approved." The man hadn't even looked up, just shoved the sheet in front of her face before she could even protest. It was as if she was encountering one nightmare after another and she wasn't about to wake up from this. "Sign at the bottom and submit in that box over there when you're done."

"No, you don't understand. He doesn't _have _any family!" she tried to convey, but the man wasn't really paying attention.

"Sorry, miss. Family only-" he was saying again.

"I'm his girlfriend!" she burst out cutting him off. "And I need to see him _now." _

"Granger?" She whirled around to find Blaise Zabini staring at her in the oddest way. She couldn't understand why anyone would stare at her like that until she realized she was standing in the middle of St. Mungo's horrific bureaucracy exclaiming that she was Draco Malfoy's girlfriend. "When did you get here?"

"_You _sent that letter?" she accused him, trying her best not to point her finger at him threateningly. He already thought she was absolutely fucking crazy, she really didn't need to embellish the image. "The one with the crazy owl?"

"You only just got that?" he asked, gesturing for her to follow. "Bloody useless thing."

She nodded as she tried to keep up with his long strides. When they reached the familiar elevator, Blaise didn't pause to address the witch that was there as a "helpful guide", then again, neither was anyone else. The witch didn't look up as dozens of people entered the elevator. Hermione doubted she even noticed that they were there. How did St. Mungos protect their patients if it was all that easy to get around?

When the doors closed, Blaise pushed the button for level five and off they were. Hermione tried instigating conversation with him, but he silently shook his head, gesturing at the people that were around them. Perhaps he just wanted to keep Draco's privacy, but she was dying to know all that he knew. He could just tell her if the Malfoy was alive or not, surely he could see that she was in distress.

But no, all she could do was stand there in silence as one by one, strange people got off on strange floors that were filled with even stranger sights and sounds. Hermione was sure that by the time they exited the life on the fifth floor, she was losing her mind with all that madness that was going on around her. Thank God she'd chosen not to be a healer. What a fucking mess of a life that would've been.

"So, what the bloody hell is going on?" Hermione demanded when he didn't say anything. There was no one else around them, after all. The fifth floor corridor was just about empty. "Where is Draco? What did you mean, he's _gone_?"

She could feel more than hear him sigh beside her and she didn't dare look at him, even through a sidelong glance lest she find out she actually was crazy. But he didn't say anything, just gestured for her to follow him. Trying to keep up with him, she trailed Blaise to the end of the corridor. The double doors read TOXICOLOGY WARD in huge black lettering.

The room they entered in seemed like it was a waiting room, but it was quiet. There was only one other person there, probably because it was nearing one in the morning. But that person was asleep, slumped in their plastic chair. Hermione wondered if she would have to do that for the next couple of hours or even the next couple of days. She was willing, though, no doubt about it.

But Blaise didn't sit down in the sad looking chairs. He was walking towards a door and knocking on it, not even waiting for her to catch up with him. Before she'd even reached him and the mysterious door, it had opened, revealing a tired looking man who was obviously a healer. The man seemed a little harassed. His glasses were askew and his hair was sticking out in odd places. It seemed as if the man hadn't gone home in a couple of days at the very least.

"That's her," Blaise said, pointing to her.

"Ah," the healer said, looking her over and scrutinizing her. It was probably not the _best _time in the world to realize that she'd run out of her house in short shorts, a sweater, and fuzzy pink slippers, but such things didn't wait for convenient times. She couldn't help but blush, but the healer didn't seem to notice. At least, she didn't think he did. "That explains why the sleeping draught has decided to wear off. He's giving the medi-witches hell, you know."

"Who? Are you talking about Draco?" she demanded. The both gave her strange looks. "Is he alright?"

"He will be," Blaise offered when the healer didn't say anything.

She considered Blaise for a moment, once again speechless and in shock. Hermione was rather _confused _to say the least. Blaise was here, to begin with. And he didn't seem concerned whatsoever. Yet he had been the one to send her that blasted letter. She hadn't even stopped to put proper clothes on! So it was obvious that the bastard had tricked her. Was Draco even here? Was Blaise lying to her? Was this some kind of trap?

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" she finally snapped when all they did was stare at her like she was some kind of lunatic. "Or are you just going to stand there and _lie _to me? Why did you send me that letter?"

"To get you here," Blaise calmly replied. As if she hadn't just been yelling at him. "I had to be sure that you'd come, you see. Couldn't risk wasting time politely asking and all."

"What kind of person do you think I _am?" _she demanded. Hermione tried not to seethe. Who did this fellow think he was? Of _course _she would've come, even if Draco wasn't dead or dying! She genuinely cared about him. Who the hell was Blaise Zabini to assume that she'd just discard Draco like he was nothing, _especially_ if he was in the bloody hospital? She wasn't like that. Blaise seemed to want to say something but she turned away from him. "Can I see him? Please?"

It seemed like the healer was debating whether or not that would be a good idea. He stared at her, scrutinizing her motivations. It was rather awkward, but Hermione was willing to look past that. After all, it was just this man between her and Draco. And she just had to make sure he was alright. That he wasn't here because of anything _she'd _done.

"Right this way."

And she thought her heart might have stopped.

/

Draco was in his own personal hell, it seemed. There were people in puke green robes, needles sticking into his arms, beeping things, and paper gowns. He was in a paper gown. He couldn't believe it for a minute, but then he had to accept the reality. He was dead and they – whoever controlled the afterlife – had sent him to his own personal nightmare.

Of course they'd decide to put him _here _of all places, being tortured in a disgusting hospital. His heart began to pound, which the beeping immediately gave away, and then there were witches around him, poking him. It was barbaric! He wasn't about to sit there, or lay there as it was, and take that kind of abuse. Fuck the fact that he was dead. Just because he was in the afterlife did _not _mean that he was about to stop fighting!

If only his body didn't feel so heavy...

What had they drugged him with? What the hell had they done to him? _Could _they even do anything to him to begin with? He was dead, after all. Right? _Right? _That had to mean that whatever it was, it was entirely in his imagination. He could just will it away if he really wanted to. If only he knew _how _to. Then the rest would be history. Then he could be back with his mother and staring at the stars.

The door opened and in came that annoying healer that directed the other people around him to move away. _"How are you feeling?"_ he would ask and Draco would only glare. Draco would prepare to spit in his face and tell him to fuck off. Perhaps he'd tell him to burn in hell and swallow his own needles. And take his stinky medi-witches with him too!

Draco would've done all those things, struggled and more, if the healer hadn't moved aside and allowed Blaise and Hermione into the room. That made Draco stop struggling. That made Draco freeze. If the beeping was anything to go by, that made Draco panic like nothing else. For this _truly _was a nightmare. He was going to see it all again, the tar, the melting, the leaving...

And this time, he wouldn't even be able to stop it, because he was in a worse hell. He was in a psychotic hospital.

Only, if he stared at Granger for long enough, he could see she was about to cry. He knew her well enough to see it. Why was she in her pajamas, anyways? The slippers were rather funny to look at, but Draco didn't dare laugh. Perhaps it would make her angry and start the torture prematurely. Blaise wasn't melting yet, but it was really only a matter of time.

"How are you doing now, Mr. Malfoy?" the healer finally asked him.

And it was Draco's moment to shine. "Go to hell, motherfucker!"

"_Draco!" _Blaise hissed in his general direction. "Behave yourself."

"Oh, why don't you just go _melt, _eh? When's it going to start, then?" he managed to sputter.

Granger began to move towards him, then, and he wasn't sure if he was supposed to keep yelling or not. He ought to have, of course. It would've been bloody dramatic. It would be stupid to let Granger think that she'd gotten the best of him.

When she sat down near the edge of his bed so tentatively, he had to question his resolve. He had to remember that he was in hell and not in heaven. But then, why was he feeling so relieved if that was the case? They were probably drugging him this very moment, sure – the needles were there for a reason, after all – but gods, he felt so relieved. She seemed afraid to touch him, but he wished she would.

"Are you okay, Draco?" she asked. Her voice was so quiet, he barely heard her. All he could do was shrug, but even as he did he noticed the action wasn't as difficult as it would've been a while ago. That had to mean something, right? "Are you sure?"

"As well as can be under the circumstances, I suppose," he offered. She seemed to accept that. It warmed his heart. He had to yell at himself for it because Granger was going to disappear any second now and they all would begin torturing him. Or perhaps Granger would join in on their fun. Would be typical. Well, he wasn't going to fall for it! "What are you doing here?"

"I... what happened?" she asked. She wasn't looking at him anymore, but at Blaise and the healer. They weren't saying anything, just staring at him so oddly, like he was turning into a pretty little butterfly or something. She turned towards him. She seemed more concerned than anything else, which he supposed would be flattering. If he wasn't dead. "What happened?"

Draco shrugged again. The situation was making him nervous. She wasn't taunting him yet, his father was nowhere to be seen, and Blaise was somehow still wholesome. Perhaps this was some other kind of nightmare. Or maybe it wasn't a nightmare at all. Maybe things were alright now. Maybe he wasn't in hell, after all.

The healer cleared his throat. "If I may... Mr. Malfoy here collapsed due to exhaustion and lack of-"

"Collapsed!" Draco snorted. "Is that what the medical term for _dying _is?"

There was a moment of stunned silence and Draco felt almost gratified. That'd show these apparitions, he thought. They all could just leave him in peace now. And take the hospital vision away from him too. It was getting to be a bit stuffy, anyway. They could even take Granger with them. He didn't care, he didn't need her anymore, since he was dead and all.

"Draco, you idiot," Blaise finally exclaimed in that annoying as fuck voice of his. It was the very voice Draco was so used to being admonished in that he couldn't help but look up. "You're not dead. You passed out from not sleeping and drinking firewhisky for food!"

Well, then.

That certainly changed things.

/

Hermione tried her best not to smile as she viewed the conflicted look on Draco's face. It was almost adorable, yet not considering that he had spent some time clearly believing that he was dead. She wasn't sure how. Yet, she was sure that there was a lot more to the story than they were letting on. She wasn't exactly stupid. She had seen how Draco had looked the moment she had walked in the room. He hadn't looked much better than a corpse for godsakes. But even now, life was returning to his face. He still looked weak, but nowhere near dead for sure.

She wanted to touch him, just to reassure him that everything was okay. But she wasn't sure how he would react to that. Would he tell her to leave? He _had _asked her why she was there and he hadn't been all too nice about it, either. She would leave if he wanted her to, she had no doubt about that. But if being here made him feel better, then she'd stay.

It was whatever he wanted at this point.

"Can someone tell me what's going on?" Draco finally exclaimed. They had been fussing over him and around him. He hadn't told her to move, no one had, and she hadn't wanted to anyway. He looked frail. She wanted to make sure he would be alright before she went anywhere. Not that being perched at the end of his bed was comfortable by any means. She could already feel her feet cramping. "Now would be a good time."

"Well, Mr. Malfoy," the healer began officially. It seemed the man didn't take any offence at being told to go to hell. Perhaps he got it all the time from disgruntled patients. "As we discussed the last time we met, Veela blood is a very potent substance-"

"No shit," Draco interrupted. Blaise glared at him. Draco glared back. "So what's wrong with me?"

"Cutting to the chase, then," the healer continued on patiently. Hermione was impressed with his composure. "Veela blood causes a form of a somatoform disorder-"

"What?" Draco interrupted once more.

"A somatoform disorder is a mental condition in which an individual displays illness that has no physical cause, but originates from the mind," Hermione provided, reciting from a book she'd once read. Draco stared at her with an odd look in his eyes. She blushed, not daring to look at any one else. "So the veela blood has been making you sick?"

"You haven't _told _her?" Blaise questioned incredulously.

Draco shrugged. "Whenever I was too far away from you, I thought I was dying."

He said it like it was nothing, like it didn't matter that he had been suffering the _entire _time that he'd spent outside her door. Hermione felt jarred, as if she'd been dropped roughly to the floor and stepped on several times. She could only imagine what he'd endured all these weeks now. How bad must it have hurt for him to be admitted into St. Mungos? And it had all been her fault. _All_ of it.

"Needless to say, we cannot determine the extent of Mr. Malfoy's pain," the healer was saying. "As it resides within his mind, he will have to be the one to fill you in on the details. Regardless, now that you are present, the only physical symptoms he seems to have are stress and dehydration. Both can be solved quite easily."

But neither of them were paying much attention to the healer anymore. It was almost like he wasn't even there. All Hermione was vaguely aware of was that Draco was going to be _okay _and that she could fix it if she stayed. It was an easy solution. The man had only had to say it once and then be gone. She could take it from here.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, reaching for his hands. "Why didn't you _tell _me?"

"Didn't want to worry you," he muttered. His eyes had fluttered closed at the contact of her fingers. She could see him transform before her, as if he was suddenly not quite as gaunt anymore. Turning her head, she saw that they were alone. The healer and Blaise had left them. "See, you're worried now."

"Should I not be worried?" she asked, staring at him, probably in concern too.

It was a good question, after all. He was in a hospital bed and he had been in an immense amount of pain – something only he could quantify for her. He shifted, attempting to make more room for her, but she shook her head. His face scrunched up in what seemed to be pain. Hermione's heart jumped for no reason in particular.

"Does that hurt?" she asked.

"No," he immediately responded. Was he afraid that she was going to leave again?

She knew she was going to have to sleep with him now, no matter what. It wasn't even a question of whether or not she wanted to. She didn't even _know _if she wanted to, only that if she didn't, he was going to be in actual pain. Perhaps if he'd told her that before, she'd have broken down much faster. But now, all she could feel was panic and fright.

If she didn't sleep with him, he'd be in agony. What kind of a situation was that to put a girl in, anyway? Perhaps if he'd approached her with that kind of proposition, she'd have thought he was crazy and cursed him with something nasty. It wasn't much of a pickup line, anyway. But now she had medical proof. It actually hurt him to be away from her, enough to put him in the hospital.

If that wasn't weirdly romantic, she didn't know what was.

Nevertheless, she didn't know what to do at that point. It wasn't like she could just jump him. She didn't even know how she'd go about doing something like that. The fellow was sick, after all. And what if she just...scared him? What if she wasn't good at it? What if she wasn't good enough? What if he kicked her out of the room after he was done with her? It made her sick.

So, instead of jumping head first into all that, she just stroked the back of his hand, not daring to look at him. She knew he was staring at her intensely, she could feel his eyes on him. It made all the hair at the back of her neck stand up. But still, she couldn't say anything. She didn't know _what _to say in any case. Sorry for making your life unintentionally miserable, let's have sex, I adore you, be my boyfriend? Fuck no! So, they sat in silence.

"So, I'm _not _dead," he asked quietly. His voice was still weak.

"No. Very much alive," she offered back. She hoped her voice didn't squeak or crack. That would've been embarrassing.

"And you're... staying?" he asked. It was obvious that he was trying to be nonchalant about it, but she could hear the undercurrent of fear in his voice. As if he actually expected her to reject him when he was laying all pathetically in a hospital bed. Why did people think she was a bitch? Was Ron really right about that? "You don't have to, you know. You can go if you like."

And that was possibly the sweetest thing he'd ever said to her. It brought tears to her eyes. Draco Malfoy was willing to endure god knows what kind of pain so _she _could be comfortable. She had never thought she'd see the day that anyone would ever do that for her. She felt like she could sob. But instead, she threw her arms around him and hugged him as tightly as her stiff arms would let her.

When she felt his arms around her waist, she almost felt relieved. "I didn't mean to make you cry again, you know. I promised myself I wouldn't."

"Can't avoid it. You make me emotional." She sniffed, chuckling weakly. "Just tell me what you want me to do -"

"I think I could stay like this forever," he interrupted, pulling her closer and more comfortably against him on the bed. "That's all I need."

She settled in; not sure where this was going, but still enjoying that she could feel him begin to get warmer. Hermione felt dizzy, rather odd. This was where she'd imagined herself to be for quite some time now. Warm, comfortable, and no obligations. No sex required to be held like this. And he seemed happy with the development. She could almost hear him purr in contentment.

"Don't go, okay?" he murmured against her hair.

She nodded into his chest. She might as well not have bothered, since he was already asleep. But she knew then that it was true, what he'd said to her. She, too, could probably stay like this forever.

/

Draco woke up in a daze. At first, he wasn't sure where he was or what was going on, only that he could hear a lot of beeping and that he was stifling hot. So hot that he was actually sweating, which rarely happened. No, sweating was reserved for quidditch and sex, definitely not _sleeping! _

His muscles were still a bit numb with sleep, his body still singing from finally being allowed to rest properly. Draco felt odd, almost calm for the first time in ages. It wasn't a something he was used to feeling anymore, at least not these days. Rested, calm, and whole? Hell, he wasn't even in pain somehow, if that even made sense. Yawning, he attempted to stretch.

Only to realize that there was a girl with a mess of curly hair asleep on his chest.

The sight gave Draco pause. It was obvious who the girl was, even to his sleep addled mind. But why was Hermione Granger asleep on him? Looking around, he was clearly in a hospital bed. But _why _he was in a hospital bed was a very good question. For some reason, he didn't feel any revulsion at the idea, even though St. Mungos was as filthy a place as they came. It was all filled with death, disease, and sickly rotting people.

But it was alright because Granger was here with him. He didn't question the fact because to question a gift might be to take the very gift away. And he sure as hell wasn't about to give this up, not for anything. He couldn't stop his hands from stroking her messy hair and back. She was wearing night clothes and fuzzy slippers.

He hadn't seen anything more beautiful for quite some time.

The situation was much like Pandora's box, for once he had laid his hands on her, he just couldn't stop himself from venturing further on into unmarked territory. She was here, after all, and for the moment, she was all his. He wasn't going to be left with absolutely nothing this time, he refused to be. He'd have something to remember her by at the very least.

His fingers travelled along the soft skin of her arms. She was warm, so goddamn warm against him. It made sense that he was overheating, but he didn't care. He'd overheat for the rest of his life to feel this whole with her right at that moment. He stroked the exposed skin at the small of her back where her tank top had ridden up and pressed his lips as softly as he could manage against her temple.

She woke up as he exhaled, his breath causing her hair to tickle the side of her face. Draco froze as her eyes fluttered open, the perfect shade of chocolate brown. Immediately, he began to memorize the vision before him, just in case he'd never have the opportunity to see this again. The only word to describe her waking up was _beautiful. _So bloody beautiful.

"You look better," she yawned.

The sight was insanely sweet. He'd heard her yawn before, of course, many times. But he'd never seen it from his own eyes. It made him feel warmer, like he knew her better somehow. And then she did something Draco had never imagined she'd do in a million years. She snuggled closer against him, pressing her face close to his neck like a cat.

"I'm glad you're better," she was muttering sleepily, her lips brushing accidently against the skin of his neck. He couldn't move, his body was experiencing something like a thrill. Did he deserve this? The feel of her against him was incredible, electric, rousing, immensely gratifying, and he didn't think he'd ever be able to get enough of it. Did he really deserve this? "Does it still hurt?"

"No," he immediately responded, not wanting to scare her. She couldn't know what her proximity was doing to him, how he was hardening painfully under her. How had she even known he'd been in pain, anyway? He didn't remember telling her. "I'm not in pain."

"Really? Are you sure? You sound out of breath."

She had pulled away, sitting up next to him. She seemed much more awake. Hermione had placed her hands on his chest and had left them there for some reason. It was making him dizzy. What was she doing? Why was she touching him? Was it because she felt sorry for him? Why was she _here? _

"Is there anything I can do?"

Well, yes. There was quite a lot she could do if she really wanted to know. She could sign herself off to him to keep until he was finally blissfully sated. She could take off that slinky top of hers and let him fuck her like an animal. She could tell him what was going on so he didn't feel like he was going bloody crazy. But how did one say anything of the sort? He couldn't just tell her to get naked, now could he?

Of course nothing would be that easy.

Instead, he shifted his hips under her so she could feel the effect she had on him. Her eyes widened at the contact and a sweet blush spread over her cheeks. It was mesmerizing, but he couldn't stop to stare. He was waiting for her to run to notice it too much. She didn't move though, and he didn't prompt her to. She was _so _close, but he knew he'd scared her, put her on the spot. She didn't like to be rushed.

And anyway, why would someone like her want someone like him?

"I'm sorry," she gasped after a minute had passed in silence. She was grasping his hospital gown – what the fuck? Who had put him in a _hospital gown? _– and he hadn't noticed at first. She was afraid _and _she didn't want him. But at least this was familiar. He was used to being rejected by Hermione Granger. "I'm sorry, Draco, I-"

Hearing his name on her lips was horridly sweet. It was so damn tempting that he had to move himself away from her. She didn't want him after all, she'd apologized for it now, so he _had _to stay away. He wasn't a disgusting rapist and he didn't want to scare or pressure her anymore than he already had. It was still surprising that she hadn't run away yet.

He'd made her life miserable enough as it was.

"It's okay," he offered. She didn't seem to notice his aching pain – both of them. Instead, she smiled brightly, so bright that it almost felt alright. "It's alright," he said again, just to see if it would get brighter.

And by gods it did.

"So you forgive me?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes," he responded, just to see her smile again. She didn't disappoint. Her smile was brilliant and it made him not even care that she didn't want him and was probably about to leave him again. He wasn't exactly sure what she was apologizing for or why, only that she needed to. He could give her that much. Anything to make her feel better. "It's alright."

She reached out to stroke his cheek with her slender fingers. Perhaps this was her way of saying goodbye or an added sorry. Whatever, he wasn't going to say no to such a gift. He let his eyes flutter shut as she continued touching, letting himself breathe properly again. He could pretend things were different. He didn't have to accept reality yet.

Only, his reality was destroyed when she pressed her lips softly against his.

She was tentative at first, especially when he stiffened in response and didn't move, lest she stop. But then she _did _try to get him to respond, massaging his shoulders with her beautiful, beautiful hands. How could he refuse such an offer? Her hands were on his face again and her mouth was so insanely sweet. He didn't question the fact that Hermione Granger was kissing him, only that her lips made him feel more alive than he'd felt in years.

But he had to stop. If she continued, he wouldn't be able to control himself and he'd take her. He couldn't even allow himself to move his hands from her hips as the vixen kissed him ever so sweetly. His body was on fire. The general area of his groin was in slight pain from the intense arousal. He was panting slightly, trying not to buck her off him and ravage her, but it grew more difficult as the seconds ticked on.

He wasn't sure how long she kissed him.

"Is something wrong?" She abruptly pulled away. She had ended up straddling him somehow in between the snogging but he couldn't remember when _that_ had happened. "I know you want this. I can obviously _feel _it," she said lightly, moving her hips against his. He bit his lip, trying not to gasp. "Why won't you touch me?"

Her voice was confident, but he could see the doubt and self consciousness in her posture and in her eyes. It was the sexiest fucking thing he'd ever seen in a woman and her words had set him ablaze. No one did it better than Hermione Granger. No one. He didn't hesitate this time. He flipped her over and trapped her beneath him. It was where she belonged.

"I didn't want to hurt you," he whispered shakily into her ear. "I want you badly enough to tear you apart."

Draco was gratified when she pressed her lips to his ears. "Then have me."

And she didn't need to say anymore.

/

It was hot and it was slick. There weren't any other words to describe how it felt to have her. She threw her head back as he arched repeatedly into her, his muscles burning from the action but giving him no inclination to stop. His hair was damp with sweat and hers was no better. Her thighs slipped around his waist, urging him harder. She was panting into his ear.

And it didn't ever get old. The first time had been slow, he'd made sure that she'd enjoyed it _slowly. _He'd had to stretch her first because Gods he'd never been in anything so fucking tight. The minute she'd gripped him, he knew he wouldn't last long. And so they'd gone at it slowly. He didn't even need to ask her whether or not she'd done a contraceptive charm. She'd held him in her when he'd finished.

He had thought the fire in him would've calmed by then, but having her only seemed to fuel his passion. He'd tasted her and now he couldn't stop himself from consuming her whole. It was as if she'd taken every desolate, depressing thought of his and replaced it with passion he'd never experienced before.

Draco had never had sex like it.

It was as if every time he thrust into her, a little life flowed back into his bones. Every time he heard her moan his name, he was complete. And every time he felt her come around him, he couldn't help but thrust a little harder, just to spur her on. Just to pound through one more and into the next. She would try not to scream out of embarrassment, but after the third time they'd gone at it, even that reservation passed.

And she was beautiful. Glistening, flushed, and frantic. Her breasts were heaving as she panted, moving with his thrusts. It was enticing enough for him to let go of her thigh to grope it, knead it, tweak the nipple when she moaned at the contact. He didn't resist when she pushed his head toward it. He sucked as she bucked upwards against him. He sucked harder as she came.

He remembered biting down as he came himself and how she dug her nails into his shoulders, deep enough for him to feel a sting. He didn't mind though, because he was finally complete.

"Draco," she cooed into his ear. "Kiss me."

And he did. He sure as hell did.

**A/N: Not what you were expecting? It wasn't what I was expecting either. But worry not! I shall amend this somehow! Let me know what you thought, please! This chapter was understandably difficult to write. Here's the usual spoiler: **

_**And then, he smiled. It was beautiful. "See you around." **_

**Unsigned Reviews: **

**Abby: **Your excitement was certainly enjoyable!

**CliffhangersMakeMeCrazy: **I do have a thing for cliffhangers. I think that makes me evil! Hope this update was fast enough for you!

**Lovealan: **Your wish is my command. :)

**Semantics: **Thank you! I agree. Pity though about knowing someone like that. Can't be all too pleasant.

**Amethystfirechik: **I was seriously considering it, but alas! It had to end like this. Thank you for the review!

**Buttercup: **Hope you had a lovely vacation! Lovely hearing from you though. Unfortunately your wish was only half answered. Enjoy!


	15. Middle of Nowhere

A/N: Second last chapter! Are you all excited? I know a lot of you were worried about that spoiler, so I definitely hope that this chapter sets you at rest. **TWO IMPORTANT THINGS!**

1) The sequel for When a Stranger Calls will be out in a couple of days! I hope you all are excited because I am! The official date will be on twitter and on my profile when I know for sure, but it'll be up before the next chapter.

AND

2) There is no sequel for this story.

Thank you as always to all of my reviewers. You have no idea how much you all have motivated me to continue getting this up. I really appreciate all of your support and kind words.

SimpsonSortia, MargeW76, justy13, glitterboden, canalise, Rephiamlove, you'll get wrinkles like that, KenLoverDH, Nico Fan, LBpunkrock722, xxfreexx, R-E-B-E-C, TwinzLover, Talis Ruadair, nikki98, reader204, JaspersEmotionalGirl, IaTeYoUrMuFfInX, wickedsoulx, Jadepowell, Abby, Hilda9Achillius9Fitra, Kimm Possible, sweet-tang-honney, Shakespearestwinsister, WAWJR, jkrowlingrox, bella Malfoy Cullen, xoRetributionox, Clamarielafla, demarzi, Vaneesa85, DZAuthor AKA DZMom, HarryPGinnyW4eva, Mondo89, and walkingby521.

_**Song Selection for this chapter: Middle of Nowhere by Hot Hot Heat**_

**Chapter Fifteen: Middle of Nowhere**

Draco woke up with a start, not sure exactly what had brought him back into consciousness. He stared at the ceiling blindly, vaguely noticing that it was a dull, sterile white, but not caring either way like he normally would have under every other circumstances. But he supposed these were hardly _normal _circumstances. It was odd, really. He didn't feel much of anything.

For one thing, his body was in no kind of pain, none whatsoever. It was like waking up from a horrid nightmare to figure out that, no, nothing bad had _actually _happened. He could see clearly without his vision being filled with a haze of pain, he could breathe without his body being wracked with shudders, and he could stretch now. He could move freely and not suffer dire consequences for being careless.

He had been released from the curse!

Yet, there was some kind of pervasive melancholy spreading through him, a sort of dread. And he had no idea _why _such a thing should be happening to him, especially now. By all rights, he ought to have been devastatingly happy, filled with thrilling joy, wholly ecstatic. And yet... he was sad. As if he was missing something rather important. There wasn't any other reasonable way to explain it, not that the feeling was altogether reasonable.

Nevertheless, he would simply have to get over it. Maybe he had turned into a masochistic freak in the past couple of months, but that wasn't something to dwell on at the moment. He yawned, trying to get his bearings. No, he couldn't think or deal with it right now. He was still at St. Mungos, if the dull ceiling was anything to go by. He yawned again, stretching, until he heard a sigh.

"_You _deal with him this time!" he heard someone whisper. "I'm not going to – no! Don't you _dare _leave me, Jenna! _Jenna!" _

Draco heard two people shuffling about and someone whack the other on the head. Draco was slightly amused at the exchange, but mostly confused. Why were two strangers arguing here of all places? And about who? It was a hospital, after all. Wasn't there some kind of rule of silence or something? He tried getting up to get to the bottom of the mystery, but the same voice from earlier cried out.

"Sir! Mr. Malfoy!" the woman shouted. "Please, do not get up!"

The lady, whoever the hell she was, sounded frantic. Though, why she'd have any reason to be frantic about him, he had no idea. Why would anyone care if he got up? He was feeling mostly fantastic, at least physically. He could deal with the strange sadness; the woman had no reason to be worried about _that. _He saw her enter his line of vision with the most worried expression he'd ever seen. She was wearing healer robes.

"Who are you?" he asked curiously.

His throat was suddenly dry – or had it be dry the whole time? Whatever the case, he was bloody thirsty! Parched. The medi-witch began pushing him back down with her hands on his shoulders. The action was aggravating, so much so that he glared at the woman. She seemed scared of him, so that was good. He ought to have yelled at the wench, but really, he didn't have the energy for it.

"I am the assistant healer of the toxicology ward here at St. Mungos," she said in that annoying official voice all healers seemed to use with him. "If you could please just lay back down..."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Why can't I get up, then?"

"You'll interrupt the diagnostic spell, sir..." she mumbled, as if she were afraid that he was about to throw a tantrum or something of equal epic proportions. He didn't exactly blame her – if he had felt more like himself, he probably would've thrown a bitch fit. An extremely _large _bitch fit. "Please, if you could just..."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered back to her, disgruntled. "I'll bloody stay still then."

She seemed wholly surprised and relieved, he could see the shock plastered all over her small little face. She was overly thin, he decided, practically malnourished, and she seemed entirely too harassed. Was that his fault or was it just a reaction to her job in general? He wasn't envious of her and he didn't really care enough to find out in either case. Anyone who worked at a hospital was suspicious in his opinion.

The medi-witch began to fuss over him in such an annoying fashion, something only people in this profession could achieve. He tried to be reasonable, but a sense of panic began to spread within him. She re-inserted several needles into his arms that had dislodged when he'd gotten up, needles he obviously hadn't noticed when he'd awoken. The feeling caused nausea to rise within him.

She was drugging him, he fucking knew it! Then she'd do things to him, probably. And after she was bloody well through, she'd send him to the fucking morgue, even though he was perfectly fucking fine! Damn it, Damn it, damn it! He would've thrown a fit right at that moment, only he'd just realized what he'd been missing thus far.

"Say..." he began cautiously, so as not to alarm the already hassled witch. He couldn't exactly trust her to be truthful or useful – she _did _work at St. Mungos – but he didn't seem to have very many other options open to him at that moment. "You know the girl that was here with me earlier?"

"Ms. Granger?" the witch asked, finally smiling. An odd reaction to have as any. What if they'd taken her too? What if they'd trapped her in a room and – "Lovely woman, she is. We all love her here at the toxicology ward. She's so kind-"

"Yes," he said, interrupting what probably would have been an impressive, sleep deprived rant. "Where did she go?"

"Oh! She left early this morning..."

Draco tuned out then, even though the medi-witch rambled on. Apparently, the woman felt comfortable now that Draco showed no sign of rebelling against the monstrosity that was St. Mungos. It didn't matter though, since Draco felt subdued, anyhow. Perhaps this was the cause of his unreasonable depression. And unreasonable it was.

Granger had fucked him and had sneaked off during the early hours of the morning.

It was odd, really. Why did he care? If he really thought about it, he supposed he didn't _really_ care. After all, she had done everything he had needed her to do and more. She had freed him from his prison. There was nothing else that she _could _do for him, not that he would even dare impose anything else on her. She would kill him if he did, probably. Nevertheless, he felt melancholic. As far as he was aware, he had no reason to be.

After some time, the medi-witch left with her diagnostic results. He didn't even flinch or swear when she removed the needless from his person. No, he just lay there. He didn't even watch her leave or plan an escape route like he ought to have done if he were smarter. One never knew when one would need an escape route, after all. Instead, he simply lay there with his arms crossed behind his head, staring at the non-descript ceiling.

Hours must have passed like so. The lighting in the room changed as the day progressed on, but he had no will to get up and do anything with his now free time. Thrice, medi-witches came in to visit him, but none dared actually talk to him. He supposed he'd been a right arse to them. Some left meals periodically, but he really didn't have the stomach for bland hospital food. All he wanted to do was lay there.

It was as if he was once again in his sixth year. Once again living the war, watching Granger and all sorts of muggles being tortured in his home – or what had been his home. It was once again exactly like the Death Eater trials that had been held after the war, how he had felt when he had been tried in front of the tribunal like he was nothing better than a criminal. But mostly, it was like how he'd been when Narcissia Malfoy had died.

Alone, desolate, and empty.

So he just lay there, contemplating what was to be. There wasn't much left for him to do in life. He always had Malfoy Industries, but fuck knew where _that _was going. Perhaps he could salvage his friendship with Blaise. Actually try to be decent this time. Perhaps he could convince Pansy to finally marry the bloke. God knew Blaise deserved that misery. Mostly, Draco didn't want to do anything at all.

At least, not for a long time.

When the sun had gone far into the west and shadows had just began to form, Draco almost felt like he could snap out of it. He was restless. Perhaps he had just enough energy to get up and go home. Perhaps he ought to get up and take care of himself. Either way, he was faced with a sudden bolt of optimism. He could make it _somewhere _other than here. He was more than ready to leap upon the way out. After all, Draco Malfoy had never dealt well with depression.

The reason for his sudden uplifted spirits was explained when there was a quiet knock on his door. He was obviously hesitant to get it. Why would a healer or medi-witch knock on a patient's door, anyway? That itself was something to be worried about. But he wasn't worried for some reason. He just felt all sorts of relaxed. And maybe a little apprehensive.

"Draco?" The door creaked open and a huge head of curly hair poked through.

"Granger..." he said, slightly surprised. Though, not entirely. His calmness had given her away. But at least he now knew for sure he was still attached to her. Perhaps he would be attached to her for the rest of his life. "You've come back?"

"Obviously," she said with a cheeky smile. He couldn't help but smile back at her, she was _that _adorable. "I've brought you a few things."

And she had. She produced a huge white plastic bag from behind her back, which just defied all logic. It had to be wider than she was! And out of it came the most miraculous things. Books, puzzles, clothes, snacks and food, shoes, wizards chess... He could only stare as she pulled out item after item and neatly pilled it all onto the second visitors chair next to his bed.

"Merlin, Granger..." was all he could say.

She smiled. "I didn't know how long you were going to be staying here, so I thought it was better to be prepared. I _did _speak to your healer though this morning before I left for work..."

So that was where she'd gone. That explained it. Of course Granger wouldn't miss a day of work, not even for him. And why would she for him? It wasn't like he was dying or anything. No, it defied reason to be _that _attentive. She'd come back, though, and that was more than enough for him. She hadn't had to come back, but she'd done it anyway. And she'd brought an entire suitcase full of things for him. Just for him.

"And what did my healer tell you?" Draco asked without looking up at her. He began to sift through the things she'd brought him nonchalantly, just to make sure that she didn't see all of the heavy emotions that were coursing through him. He was grateful that she was here and gratefulness wasn't something that Draco felt often. He couldn't show her this. Not in a million years. "Am I still delusional?"

Hermione laughed. It was fucking beautiful.

"No," she said, pushing hair out of his eyes. The gesture was so sweet. He wondered if she'd consciously done it. He wondered if she'd do it again. "But the veela blood isn't entirely out of your system."

"Figures," Draco sighed. Of course the curse wasn't _entirely _over.

"But it won't hurt you anymore," she added quickly before he could brood. "Might have a few slight negative effects, but you won't need to, you know, be so attached to me anymore. It should wear off soon."

And then he _did _look at her, right in the eye. She seemed hopeful, as if that news was meant to make him happy or something. He supposed it did in a way, it was definitely relieving to know that he was almost free, at the very least. But she seemed to think that she was a burden to him, that it was _her _fault. He could see it in her eyes. He didn't understand. If anything, it was he who had made her life difficult.

He realized that maybe he didn't actually know the first thing about her. He _had _paid attention and all that, but maybe he didn't understand after all. Because she _was _here now. It defied all logic, all reason. She ought to be out there living life, not in here with him in a nasty hospital room.

"So you don't have to be here," he stated, looking closely for her reaction.

She paused for a heartbeat, uncertainty flashing across her face. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No," he responded, much too quickly for his liking. How could he tell her that he didn't _ever _want her to leave? That was probably the veela blood talking, but it was true. If she left him now, he'd break down and cry like a little bitch. "I don't want you to leave."

"Good," she said with a smile.

And then they had dinner like two civilized human beings with no awkwardness or tension. It was almost easy to ignore the fact that they were in one of the more unseemly places they could be, that they probably had unresolved issues they ought to talk about, and that they'd fucked like rabbits for two days straight. It was all irrelevant.

Afterwards, she crawled into bed with him like it was the most normal thing in the world. Draco could recall feeling fulfilled as they drifted off to sleep.

/

"_Granger!" _

Hermione startled awake, not entirely sure where she was or what was going on. All she knew was that she was sore and that it was entirely _too _hot. She tried kicking off the blankets, but she was too tangled in the sheets and her own clothes. Treacherous things! She hated waking up like this, sweating and trapped.

"Granger_, _I swear, if you don't move right now, I'll have the medi-witches remove you!" came a muffled, but threatening voice from somewhere ahead of her. "_Granger!" _

It only took her a second then to realize what an awkward position she had managed to twist herself into. Her head was clear off the foot of the bed – how had she managed to turn completely around anyway? She had somehow managed to throw her legs over Draco's chest, successfully pinning him to the bed. One of her feet was placed firmly against his neck and the other solidly against his stubbly cheek.

He seemed disgruntled. Well, no shit! Who _wouldn't _be disgruntled waking up to a foot in their face and trapped in bed? He was trying to gently remove her off of him, but clearly didn't want to startle her. It was rather sweet. Ron would've just shoved her over. In fact, he had in the past. She'd fallen off the bed several times in the middle of the night.

Well, she had always been a restless sleeper, that was for sure.

"Granger," he whined. "Are you even awake? I swear, I won't even yell at you. Promise! I promise on the head of my unborn child."

She couldn't help but burst out into laughter. It was too funny. It was far too ridiculous. She was honestly lying awkwardly in bed with what had been her arch-nemesis. She had a foot in his face. Hell, she wished she could go back in time and tell that to him when he'd been a blond little snob. That would've been hilarious. It made her laugh all the harder.

"Release me, witch!" he hissed, though she could tell he was trying his best not to smile.

When she didn't move, giggling and pushing her toes into his cheek, she could feel him shudder. Whether it was because of interest or revulsion, she wasn't sure. Either way, it was bloody hilarious and she expressed it with loud laughter, laughter that was probably inappropriate for a hospital. Then he did something she hadn't expected. He roughly nipped at her ankle.

And it tickled.

"And I'm prepared to chew through to the bone, too," he told her when she shrieked in response.

She couldn't help it, she was sensitive there. She couldn't exactly change the fact that she was insanely ticklish! But he seemed to pick up on that very quickly and he took advantage of it. His fingers were merciless and she was out of breath within seconds, crying out for mercy louder than was appropriate. She tried to kick her feet away, but he was much too strong for her. Hell, if he'd gone back in time and told her he'd be tickling her in a hospital bed, she'd have punched him. Twice.

"Alright! Alright, I'm _sorry!" _she managed to gasp between shrieking. "Please! I swear, I'll wet myself if you don't fucking _stop-_"

He chuckled evilly. "Well, you should've considered that before you stuck your smelly feet in my face."

"My feet are _not _smelly," she responded indignantly. It was true, she had perfect hygiene, thank you very bloody much. She tried tugging her feet away from him once more uselessly. "I'm sorry, alright? Please let me go."

"Hmm..." he sighed, skimming his lips against her ankle. "I don't know. I think I quite like it here."

It was the oddest thing. She was actually turned on by it. She wasn't sure what it was about his lips, but they could make just about anything sexy – even ankle kissing and tickling. It went against all reason, to be honest. It was like he was testing her by kissing along her calf. It made her shudder, but he didn't acknowledge it. Somehow, that made everything ten times more intense than it ought to have been.

"_Please," _she whispered, though she wasn't really sure what she was asking him to do anymore. Did she want him to let go or to pull her closer – properly – so that more deviousness could ensue? She shivered and he had to have felt it this time. But still, he said nothing, still he only kissed her ever so lightly. His touches were lighter than feathers. She didn't want him to break. "Please."

And then he did let her go. She was too shaken to feel any kind of loss. It had been random and over rather quickly, but no one had ever done anything so intimate with her. Yes, sex was intimate, but... Hell, she was confused. She was thankful that it was dark so he couldn't see her blush. That would've been more embarrassment than she could take in a day. After all, she _had _told him she had been about to wet herself. What had she been thinking?

He helped her right herself and lay back down on the proper side of the bed.

"Tell me," he ventured, pushing her hair behind her shoulders. That, too, left her shaken. He was so familiar with her now. It felt more intimate than anything she'd ever experienced and it had only been a thoughtless gesture. She wanted to demand answers from him, but she had no idea what she would ask. "How is it that you managed to end up in such a... compromising position?"

Of course _now _he'd call it compromising. She shrugged. "I guess I'm a restless sleeper."

"Then what was stopping you two days ago?" he asked curiously. And she could tell he actually _was _curious, not just making random conversation just because they were awake now. That in itself was rather odd. Why should he be interested in her? The veela blood ought to have worn off enough that no compulsions remained. At least, that's what the healer had told her. "You seemed to be perfectly calm then."

"Did we even sleep at all?" she asked. He chuckled and she was shocked by her own boldness. So she'd brought up the taboo subject. He had to know what she was referring to. She didn't want to talk about it! Her cheeks were burning and she shifted, hoping that he would only think she was trying to get comfortable. "I mean, you pretty much held me like a pillow..."

"Hm..." No, that didn't sound right! She had to amend it before he thought she was just a weird chick. "I suppose you've got a point."

She did? But she didn't have time to ponder his answer as he had already pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her. It wasn't constricting, if anything it was comfortable. Or it would have been if the feel of his hard chest against her back didn't have her throbbing. She wondered if he could feel her pulse racing. She wondered if her cheeks were bright enough to see in the dark.

"What are you doing?" she asked when he began to snuggle against her.

"Holding you so you don't kick me in the face," he responded as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Go back to sleep, Hermione."

And so she did, or tried to. After all, she wouldn't want to be _difficult. _

/

Hermione woke up to bright sunlight in her face and a pair of warm, soft lips at the back of her neck. She probably would have enjoyed the second reality if the first one hadn't been so unbearably bright. What time was it, anyway? Why was she still half asleep? Was she going to be late to work? She couldn't risk being late to work again, they'd definitely take her job!

She tried to bolt upright in bed, but a pair of arms around her waist kept her firmly in bed. That was somehow confusing to her, even though it should have made perfect sense. Of course she couldn't just rush away without adequate explanations. That would be rude and she didn't want to seem rude to him. At least, not after she had put her feet in his face.

"I'm going to be late for work," she explained calmly. She was annoyed how gravelly her voice was, how tired she sounded. The thought made her stifle a yawn. "Let me out. I've got to shower..."

He chuckled lightly. How was he so awake? Did the man never sleep?

"Relax, Granger," he said quietly. His voice was more soothing than it ought to have been. She could fall asleep again just listening to him, she could, and that was horrid news. It really was. She had to get going, she had to... "It's only six thirty."

"Then why the hell is it so bright?" she exclaimed.

Then he really did laugh. She could hear him rummaging for his wand and a quick flick later, the blaring lights (which _hadn't _been produced by the sun after all) were dimmed. Who the hell had turned on the lights at six thirty in the bloody morning? She'd have to have a word with him before she left and give them a good piece of her mind.

"I'm surprised you only just noticed now," he said, clearly amused. "The medi-witch turned them on nearly an hour ago to come and run the usual spells and all that nonsense."

She groaned and that made him laugh again.

"You're obviously not a morning person, then," he mused.

She didn't bother responding and he didn't make her. Instead, he went back to kissing the back of her neck, which only made her more dazed. If she had been more awake, she would've realized what a bad idea it was, letting him go on like that. But as it was, she was only aware of the burning fire from the night before returning to her, forming right at the pit of her stomach.

His hands began to stroke her hair lightly as he kissed her skin, and that confused her. Was he trying to put her to sleep or trying to arouse her? Hell, Malfoy was confusing. He ought to make up his mind so that _she _could make up hers. It wouldn't do to just jump him if he was tired, granted that he wanted to jump her at all. But then, he was a guy. Why would a guy ever deny sex?

Fuck it, she was too tired to think about it.

Only, his hands were stroking her back now too. What was his problem? Couldn't he _see _she was in the middle of trying to sleep? It was unfair to do such treacherously sweet and sexy things and not act upon the desire that he should've been feeling if he were a normal person. Why was he being so modest, anyway? He'd slept with her before. What was stopping him now?

It was as if he could read her thoughts, for his lips were on her jaw suddenly. She must've moaned slightly or given him any kind of encouragement, because he didn't back away. Somehow, she was turned around and kissing him, though she didn't remember getting into position. His lips were as sweet as she'd remembered, even though she hadn't parted with them for too long.

"You don't have to let me," he was whispering against her lips. Her hands were in his hair, grasping, tugging gently. He seemed to enjoy that, for she could see the conflict in his eyes. "I don't really _need _it anymore."

And she understood what he meant. The veela blood had to be almost gone by now by her calculations. She was sure after the healer had looked over the most recent diagnostic results, he'd confirm the same. But what did that mean for them? Was he afraid of taking advantage of her? Perhaps he _was _taking advantage of her just then. She wasn't sure how to respond and she was afraid to open her mouth lest something stupid came out of it.

"I do need it, though," she insisted quietly, kissing him before he could protest.

It seemed that was all he had needed. His lips were on her, then, almost desperately. He had needed it, too, though perhaps not to satiate the veela blood. Even though that was (almost) a thing of the past now, their emotions had to be real. She hadn't imagined his interest and she knew she had begun to want him at some point of their journey. It was something they had to satiate before all was said and done. And then who knew? Maybe they could get past it.

When Draco's lips found their way to her chest, all unnecessary and random thoughts flew straight out of her head. It was like magic, the thrills that were coursing through her body. His fingers were expert as they deftly undid her trousers and pulled her shirt over her head. She didn't even try to slow him down or stop him. She needed to feel his skin just as much as he needed to feel hers.

His hands were everywhere and she could only grip tightly on his shoulders as he made himself known to her body. It was as if he'd consumed her with his mind and soul with that one touch. She'd have willingly given him her life at that moment. It was a passion she'd never felt before and for that she would always be beholden to Draco Malfoy for sharing it with her.

He captured her lips as he entered her with a moan.

She could feel herself pulse around him, could feel how he was already too excited by the way he was panting. He wasn't rough with her like he had been before – like how they'd _needed _it before. He was steady and hell he was deep. They rocked against each other. She thought she might have started crying from the passion the second time she came around him.

It was so _close _the way he kissed her, the way he allowed her to wrap her legs around his waist and pull him even closer, even deeper. His moans tasted sweeter than she remembered – but then she only remembered a colourful haze. He gripped her hips tightly as they began to get frantic. She could feel that he was getting there and she wanted to get there with him.

It wasn't explosive like it had been the first time, but it was there. It was relief and it was _bliss. _For this, she could live. To this, she could be addicted. And as he lay against her with his head against her chest, finally spent, she realized that she could finally relax.

Things weren't disintegrating and she had no reason to believe that they would be.

/

Draco yawned as he stared at the ceiling, not bothering to even cover it up. He was entirely too comfortable to care how rude the action probably was. In either case, it didn't seem as if Hermione noticed at all. She was stroking the pattern of his shirt familiarly as he was stroking the small of her back. It was odd, really. Draco wasn't used to such intimate gestures, especially when there was no sex involved.

But it mattered not, since he was comfortable. No one would ever know that the great Draco Malfoy had ever let his guard down, and with a woman no less! Who would believe her if she spread the news about, anyway? And why would she? She had more to lose than he did when it came to such things. She'd never do that to herself. She'd never do that to _him. _

It was weird, but he was confident in that statement now.

A flash of lightening shone through his drab curtains and a clap of thunder followed soon after. He felt Hermione shiver against him, even though she was well dressed and under the covers, and burrow closer against him. Women were such heat leeches, but he'd already known that. Hermione was no different in that respect. But maybe she was just afraid of storms.

"How was your day?" he asked when she failed to provide any conversation.

She grunted noncommittally, her fingers stalling mid stroke. "Horrific, as per usual."

Draco snorted. Of _course _her day would have been horrible. She'd gone in to work as she did every day, though he had no idea why. The place was toxic and the people were no better, and yet she endured it. Perhaps she felt like it was all she was capable of, he didn't know. But he knew she hated it, or at least hated the place and the people who surrounded her. She was a woman of efficiency and if something could be said about the Ministry of Magic...

Well, it was an inefficient machine.

"You know..." he began, contemplatively. It had been an idea that had been at the back of his brain ever since she'd brought up her work situation. It would be an interesting solution to both of their problems. He wasn't ready to just get up and go, at least not yet, not without her guiding him, and she'd have something she might actually enjoy doing. "You could come work at Malfoy industries when we get out of here."

She paused, completely frozen. She probably hadn't been expecting the offer, even though he ought to have made it a long time ago. But perhaps she had expected it, just not in a hospital bed. It _was _rather unofficial, after all. Perhaps she wouldn't take him seriously. Perhaps she'd just laugh it off and they'd go back to the easy conversations they had. His heart started thumping unnecessarily. He wondered if she could feel it from where she lay against him.

"You know I couldn't do that, Draco," she said gently, resuming her stroking. Well, at least she wasn't offended.

"Why?" he asked in a similar tone, curious now. He wasn't offended or anything – she was here with him now, what more could he ask for? – but he _was _curious. Was it just because she didn't want to see him professionally or because she thought him useless? "I'd give you any position you could possibly want."

"You're very sweet," she said after a long moment had passed. He could tell she said it sincerely, but it confused him nonetheless. "But I couldn't take the job in good conscience."

"Why not? Is it because we've slept together? Because really-"

"No, no," she said with a laugh, patting his chest reassuringly. He calmed and stared at her, sprawled so deliciously against his side. Her hair was everywhere, but he was used to that by now. That, and the fragrant smell of it that accompanied her wherever she went. She was a sight for sore eyes. "I belong at the Ministry, that's all."

Well, that was weird.

"What do you mean? You _hate _your job," he exclaimed. It was true. She _did _hate it, didn't she? That was one thing he had been sure he knew about her. At least, up until now he was sure. "You complain about it almost incessantly-"

"Oh, alright," she said, cutting him off. "So I complain about it a little..."

"A _little?_" He poked her in the side and she shoved him indignantly. "And Goyle only eats a _little _bit of dessert every evening. Potter only has a _small _hero complex. Your old cat was only a _tiny bit _hideous-"

"Alright!" she exclaimed indignantly, glaring at him. "I complain about it a lot."

"Incessantly-" he began with a smirk.

"Don't make me punch you again, Malfoy," she said with a growl. It was perhaps the single most adorable thing he'd seen all day – not that he'd had much to stare at. But still. She was hilarious.

"Oh my," he taunted her, a smirk plastered on his face. This made her narrow her eyes and he had to suppress a laugh. It wasn't his fault. She was just too easy to rile up. It almost _was _like they were back in school and he'd found himself an easy target. "I had no idea you were so kinky. Since when have you become so daring?"

"Some fellow camped outside my door told me I'm not adventurous enough." And she shrugged when his smug grin widened.

"Why, what a wise man he must be. Charming, too."

"Maybe," she agreed, smiling deviously herself. She crossed her hands behind her head in an easy fashion, something that he'd claimed as _his _trademark, and regarded him. "Some bimbo might think so, but I don't see it. In fact, he sounds like a complete arsehole to me. But what should I know?"

His jaw must have dropped to the floor because she began to laugh in that contagious laugh of hers. He'd never seen her so carefree. Had she actually pulled one over his head? Had she called him an _arsehole? _It was all too surreal. She tapped under his chin to shut his mouth for him and he stared at her all the more closely, attempting to figure out what this woman had done with Hermione Granger.

"I ought to meet him, then," he continued, playing on, but he was much less sure of himself now that he knew she could bite. "Teach him a lesson or two."

She smiled, kissing him on the cheek. "I doubt that'd be necessary."

"So, why do you not want to work with me?" he said in a rush, wanting to get rid of the intimacy. It was making him uncomfortable that she was this close to him, this _familiar. _It was foreign. It was not entirely natural. By this time, he'd already be out the door and having a drink, not sticking around and talking. "We pay real well at Malfoy Industries."

If she knew he was trying to distract her, she didn't show it. Instead, she frowned, as if not sure what her answer ought to be. Was there even an answer? The Ministry of Magic wasn't the happiest place on earth, after all. The turnover rate in employees, at least at the lower level, was abysmal. Virtually no one was happy to be there, everyone could see it on their faces as they shuffled through the bureaucracy. What could she possibly come up with to convince him staying _there _was better than working with him?

"A couple of months ago, I was on the committee that helped pass Bill C-17," she began slowly. Her voice was rather low, low enough that she was mumbling. "You might not know about it, it's rather insignificant to those who aren't directly impacted by it."

"What is it?" he asked, confused as to what this had to do with anything.

"It deals with the restrictions placed on Lycanthropes, or werewolves. You ought to know all about the unfair treatment of werewolves." It wasn't a question, but he nodded anyway. And he was well familiar with the 'plight' as many called it. He'd seen Lupin fired for it, after all. He'd seen them flock after Greyback during the war, hoping that they'd have some kind of power. "Well, equality is never _easy _to gather."

"What does that have to do with..."

"There aren't enough people pushing for change, Draco. If I left, I'd never feel right knowing I consciously abandoned those that could probably benefit from my dedication and help." She smiled at his incredulous expression and stroked his hair away from his face, something she'd grown accustomed to doing in the past few days they'd spent together. "I might hate my job sometimes, but I love the results it gets me and other less fortunate beings."

"I suppose I understand," he mumbled, kissing _her _on the cheek this time. "You're far too good for them, still."

And she smiled.

She was an amazing person, he realized, far too good for even _him _to touch. It wasn't that she was just self sacrificing – working with idiots was a _huge _sacrifice – it was that she accepted it as if it was for granted. Hell, he couldn't even imagine doing such a thing. And for what? Little animals and freaky Hippogriffs? No, he'd never contemplate binding himself to anything for so little in return. But he supposed that was the difference between him and her. Maybe she was better after all.

And yet, she didn't leave, which surprised him in the least. He didn't burn for her anymore, but he was still awed. He didn't need her anymore, like she probably didn't need him, but he still wanted to know her. Perhaps that was stupidity, but perhaps that was fate.

He knew she'd changed him just by being there. At first he hadn't known if those changes had been for the better, but he supposed now that they definitely weren't for the worst. He could breathe easy knowing that he wasn't despicable, at least not as despicable as he'd once thought he was. At the very least, he didn't need her to confirm it for him anymore. It was comforting. Even if she left him now, he would be alright. He'd feel fine.

Who knew a little veela blood could mend so much?

That night, before his shift ended, his healer came in to tell him he would be released in the morning. Hermione had been happy and he had had mixed opinions. Yes, he was finally glad to almost be rid of the disgusting room, but that also probably meant parting ways with the girl sitting next to him in bed, reading a book that was larger than her head.

/

Hermione couldn't sleep, far too keyed up to consider slumbering. This, of course, was rather normal. She'd always had difficulty sleeping when there was too much excitement in her life. She'd always had the tendency to think and over think just about _everything. _And so, she'd learned how to function on just a few hours of sleep.

Draco was pressed against her back, his forehead resting somewhere near her shoulder. She could feel his breath tickle her skin and wondered if he were awake. His breathing seemed even enough, so perhaps he was. She wondered how he could sleep on a night like this, but then perhaps he wasn't as confused about the day to come as she was.

Draco Malfoy was to be released from St. Mungos come morning.

Though he called it captivity, and she could understand why he did so, she had had a lovely week. It was a weird thing to say that coming to St. Mungos was _fun, _but it honestly had been. She'd finally gotten (intimately) acquainted with the man she'd been craving for who knows how long. And hell, was it worth it. She had no doubt it had been worth it.

He was the same person he had been on the other side of her door, but _more. _He spoke with his hands and was more expressive than he cared to possibly admit – at least when he thought no one would notice. He had table manners, even when they ate in bed, and was left handed. His hair had the habit of falling into his face, he was easy to irritate and even easier to calm, and he had a crooked smile.

His index toe was longer than his big toe, his thumb bent backwards instead of straight like hers did, he was shy about cuddling, and he was more devious in bed than she was familiar with. It was overwhelming to think about all the information she'd catalogued about him in her brain, but she cherished everything, even the miniscule things.

She wondered if he'd make fun of her if she told him.

She wondered what he'd say if she asked him what he planned to do in the morning. Would he brush her off with a laugh or make up a simple answer? He could ignore the meaning behind those words if she had the courage to ask them, but they would both know what she intended. Would he say goodbye to her? Was she even ready for that kind of thing?

The thing was, Hermione had never met anyone who was so _free _with words. She wasn't sure whether this was due to him being around women all the time or if it was just the way he was. She had been called beautiful more times in the past week than she had been in her entire life, and for some reason it felt _good. _Not because it was nice to be called beautiful, but because he actually meant it.

And that meant something to her.

Perhaps she felt like she was worth something and he left no room for insecurities. Maybe she felt secure because _he _was so secure about himself. At least, he seemed to be. She'd never met anyone so confident about _everything. _It could possibly be a facade, but it was a damn good one. It gave her the courage to do things she wouldn't normally consider, like blackmail her coworkers into doing their jobs properly. And the way he touched her...

He wrapped his arms tighter around her when she shivered, so it was obvious that he was awake. She had to hold her breath when he rubbed his cheek against the skin of her back, exhale loudly when he gently kissed it. His hand sought hers, meshing their fingers together and pressing them both just above her chest. She kissed it.

"Can't sleep?" he whispered.

"No." Though it actually had been rather easy falling asleep next to him every other day. He was comforting somehow and he was always warm. "Why can't you?"

She felt him shrug, but he said nothing else. Instead, he began to stroke her hair, something that had always helped her sleep before. Sometimes her mother would have stayed there for hours, just singing quietly and playing with her hair. The memory brought a smile to her face and she pressed herself closer against him.

It would have been a gentle moment had she not felt how aroused he was. He shifted himself away from her subtly so she wouldn't have to acknowledge that she'd felt it at all. The action touched her somehow. Why was he so _considerate? _She knew he didn't feel awkward about it. He never had. He really was just doing it for her sake, and she didn't understand _why. _Perhaps that was what drew her to him. He was just... different.

She turned herself to face him and he thankfully didn't pull away his arms from around her. She could see his face clearly enough from the thin light that shone through the curtains. Perhaps she'd never see this face again from this close up. Perhaps she would, who really knew about such things? All she could do was be happy in the present.

It was going to be okay, whatever happened.

She traced her fingers over his stubbly jaw, rubbing her thumb over his soft lips. He kissed it so very gently. She could feel herself beginning to get hot, just by the feel of him. She kissed the corner of his mouth as a sort of question. He gently turned her over onto her back as an answer. She had to smile – she always had smiled.

"You're so very beautiful," he muttered against her lips just before he kissed her. It made her skin feel as if it were on fire. Every time he said it, she felt herself feel surer of herself. He tasted sweet for some reason, like chocolate dipped in caramel. "So, so beautiful."

They didn't kiss like it was the last kiss they'd ever had. But even if it was, it was searing. She felt like he could see her then, like he knew everything that was important about her. And that was necessary, very necessary, because she was about to let him consume her. It wasn't just sex, it was trust. And she trusted him. His tongue was against her neck, exploring the arch, and she wasn't going to push him away.

When his hands found their way under her shirt, she couldn't stop the little noises that escaped her as he explored the sensitive skin of her torso. Soon enough, it was all gone and they both were free. Her hands somehow found purchase in his hair, his on her hips, just as he took her. The grimace of pleasure on his face as he entered her was gorgeous. He was far too sexy for his own good.

And then he thrust into her. Over, and over, and over again, until they were both sweating and crying out in bliss. His lips pressed against hers, just pressed and nothing more. He was far too consumed in the feel of her against him, around him, under him that he couldn't process anything else. All she could do was stare blindly at his eyes and meet him halfway.

When he finally spent himself in her, he collapsed, half his weight pressed over her. She didn't want him to move, at least not until she'd memorized the feel of his body against her, so she trapped him there with her legs wrapped securely around his waist. He rested against her chest, she playing with his hair, him just breathing as best as he could.

They managed to somehow sleep.

/

When morning came, they both knew things were changing and they couldn't do anything to stop the process no matter how scary it was. Neither knew where the other was going. Draco wasn't entirely too sure if he ought to go where he was planning on going, if he was being entirely honest with himself. And Hermione...

Well, Hermione felt okay.

They had awoken with the sun, rising to get dressed and freshen up as dawn cracked the horizon. They didn't need to say anything to each other since there really wasn't much to say at the time. They'd said enough with their bodies the night before. Draco knew she appreciated him, though perhaps not the extent to which she did. Hermione knew he was on his way to becoming someone he was more comfortable with accepting. Though perhaps she didn't know how much she had forced him to the path.

When they could hear the medi-witches switch shifts and people bustling in the hallway outside, Draco turned and smiled at her. His hair was messy, something she had come to appreciate. Hell, she liked making it messier herself. And so she did, by ruffling his hair. He smiled at her, that brilliantly beautiful crooked smile.

"What will you do now?" she blurted out.

She hadn't meant to in all honestly. She'd really wanted this to be an amicable parting, nothing awkward for him. After all, Draco Malfoy didn't _do _awkward. She was afraid for a second that she'd ruined everything, that he'd scoff and her and tell her goodbye. But he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he smiled, gesturing for her to sit down next to him.

"First, I'm going to visit my father's grave," he said, so very sure of himself as he always was. The answer surprised her. She could tell he was being honest and it warmed her. "And then I'm going to help Blaise fix the mess I made of Malfoy Industries."

"I'm very proud of you," she said with a smile. It was the most honest thing she'd said to him.

"And what about you?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," she said with a shrug. She wasn't exactly sure where she'd go now. All she knew that it wasn't here, at least not for the moment. She had to set herself up for success before she could risk failure. "I haven't really thought about it."

He didn't question it, not like all of her other friends would have, like even Ron would have if he had been given the opportunity. Or if he had paid attention to her, that is. No, he simply just changed the subject and they talked like pals for what seemed like hours. He was very easy to talk to, after all, that much she had already known for a long time now.

So when the medi-witch and his healer finally came to give him one last once over, neither of them were very sad to be interrupted. No, they both felt warm, though perhaps for entirely different reasons. He didn't even scowl at the healer when he was prodded at with a needle. It made Hermione smile. He was growing and perhaps he had made her grow to.

She kissed his cheek and excused herself.

"Granger," he called back to her.

She stopped in her tracks and turned around, raising a brow. Was there anything else to say? _Could _they come up with anything to say to prolong this moment? He seemed to be thinking along similar lines, for he paused and ran his fingers through his hair in the most adorable fashion.

And then, he smiled. It was beautiful. "See you around."

She had to smile at that too. Of course she nodded, but she didn't think the offer was going to turn into reality. They were separate now. He didn't need her and she... well, she was free. She could do anything she wanted now and no one could really criticize her for her actions. She was unbound. She didn't need him to make her feel good about herself anymore. She didn't need anyone to do her job for her.

And as she exited St. Mungos, she had to stop and take a deep breath. She could have whooped for joy and pranced down the street, but she restrained herself. There was no need to alarm muggles after all. But she was happy. It was a new day and she was living it. She intended to fully live every single day after this one, as well. It was going to go well. Everything would work out now, just like she'd told him it would all those weeks ago.

So, she went home with a smile to shower. And then she left to enjoy some sunshine while it lasted before going in to the Ministry for a hard day's work. But even then, she was happy. She thought she'd finally learned the secret to life.

All in all, she didn't see Draco Malfoy for a long time after that.

**A/N: Disappointed? Interested? There is one more chapter after this one! I'm both excited and slightly sad that this is almost over. Please don't forget to keep an eye out for the sequel to when a stranger calls. It is titled: When the Stranger's Gone. Until then, here's a spoiler: **

_**Or perhaps she'd just kill him. **_

**Unsigned Reviews: **

**Abby: **I believe this chapter has answered your most amusing inquiry. Thank you for reviewing!

**KimmPossible: **Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it.


	16. When You Were Young

A/N: And we have finally reached the end! I am both sad and extremely happy that this is FINALLY over. This has been difficult to write (as a lot of you are aware of) and at times was almost impossible. So I thank you for sticking with me all this time! I apologize for the delay in getting this out.

**A couple of things before you read this last chapter: **

**1.** This is a sort of alternate ending. You could choose to leave it off at the last chapter if you find it more suitable. I myself prefer this ending, but it's entirely up to you.

**2.** If you left an anonymous review on the last chapter, the website seems to have glitched and not let you leave your names, so I cannot respond to any of you! I was extremely sad when I figured this out.

**3.** The sequel to when a stranger calls is **OFFICIALLY POSTED! **If you have the time (and inclination) please read and review. It would mean the world to me.

**4. **This chapter is written in a very confusing way. Please pay attention to the time stamps posted before every section in this chapter. It is also written entirely in Hermione's point of view. I'm not sure why I'm pointing this out, but it seemed relevant.

A special thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourited, alerted, and the works. To those who have reviewed the last chapter, my appreciation goes out to you:

LBpunkrock722, Ms. Louis Cordice Zabini, AliBelly, Rephiamlove, Talis Ruadair, TwinzLover, reader204, shaymars, sweet-tang-honney, Magpie93, semantics, Hilda9Achillius9Fitra, bella Malfoy Cullen, Mondo89, HarryPGinnyW4eva, IaTeYoUrMuFfInx, xoRetributionox, buttercup, Jimmie the Pirate, Jadepowell, HP-Princess1, JaspersEmotionalGirl, a fucking veela, DZAuthor AKA DZMom, Dangerous Love, silviaelisa, and all of you who left anonymous reviews.

ENJOY!

_**Song Selection for this Chapter: When You Were Young by The Killers**_

**Chapter Sixteen: When You Were Young**

**Present Day: Diagon Alley Bistro**

They had been having lunch when Ginny had popped the question.

"Hey, have you heard about Malfoy?" she asked so nonchalantly, as if his name didn't mean anything at all. Well, Hermione reasoned, it ought not to mean anything special to anyone but her, since he was virtually nonexistent to her friend circle, after all. But then, hearing his name from their mouths always did startle her, even though she had no reason to be cautious anymore. "He's plastered _all _over the papers."

"Ah," Hermione said, sighing in relief. "Yes, I did see that."

She'd seen it just that morning when her daily mail had been delivered. His face (And Blaise's) had been plastered all over the front page of the Daily Prophet and she' hadn't been able to stop herself from tearing it open and devouring it. Well... she hadn't ever denied to herself (or anyone else) that she was compulsive. And obsessive. That was as good an excuse to explain away her behaviour as any.

The article hadn't been anything bad. In fact, it was overly good, if anything was to be said about it. Malfoy Industries had finally finished its big merger with Bailey and Bailey Incorporate ad they were now celebrating their sixth month of wild success – or in other words, enjoying the fruit of a very profitable quarter.

When Draco had told her he planned to save his father's company, he hadn't been joking. He had waltzed into the office the very day he had been released from St. Mungos (Or at least, that was what the papers had reported) and had taken control of the deteriorating machine. Since then, he and Blaise had set out to re-establish the old board of directors under the guidance of one Constantine Flaharty, former head of finance.

With a few changes that Draco had demanded, of course. Draco had always told her he had despised some of those "old farts".

It had taken him (under the direction of Blaise, Flaharty, and the rest of the board) six months to get their act together and it was at that point where Bailey and Bailey Inc had decided to merge with Malfoy Industries. It had been splashed all over the various papers for _weeks _and Hermione had never been happier for him. It had taken the wizarding world by surprise – everyone had predicted that Malfoy Industries would surely have perished by then.

But apparently Draco had managed to make it work. She wasn't all too surprised he had managed to succeed. After all, he _was _the son of Lucius Malfoy, who had been a well established pureblood, politician, and business man first and only then a Death Eater maniac. Draco had learned how to be smooth from a young age.

It had only taken Draco three weeks with the Chairman of Bailey and Bailey, Zeragoza Cromwell to convince him of the merger. Zeragoza was apparently well over a hundred years old and had been secretly ready to retire for several years now, much to the surprise of his entire company. He had been only too easy to convince after Draco had presented the... _evidence_.

Zeragoza was apparently the ex-husband of Meredith Cromwell, her neighbour that lived down the hall. She wouldn't have even known that the lady even existed if Draco hadn't informed her of it. She'd never even met the woman, let alone known her name. Apparently, Zeragoza was still deeply in love with this Meredith person, and Draco had used this information to convince him of the merger.

Hermione wasn't even sure how Malfoy knew her closeted neighbour, let alone well enough to learn something that intimate or useful. But that was life, she supposed. That was how things progressed – entirely randomly.

And now, a year later, Draco Malfoy had been placed amongst the top ten wealthiest witches and wizards in Britain. Hermione couldn't be prouder of him than she was now. Sure, it was true that he was being directed by a bunch of people who knew more than he did about his company and how to run it, but he was learning. He'd managed to do something for himself and that was more than enough progress for a lifetime. He'd accomplished a lot in the year that had passed since the day they'd departed at St. Mungos.

As for her, she'd had a long year herself.

She had embarked on a journey the week after the "veela incident" had culminated at St. Mungos. To be honest, it had been something she'd started well back at Hogwarts, but had somehow lost her way throughout the many years since that time.

At first, it had been Voldemort, the quest for destroying Horcruxes, and fighting the inevitable war that had been brewing for nearly two decades. After that, she had had to deal with the destruction that had been inflicted during the war, repairing all the damage done to the wizarding world, healing from the damage, all the horror she had suffered through. And shortly after, her life had provided the distraction of working at the Ministry of Magic and making a life with Ronald Billus Weasley.

Somehow, in the midst of it all, Hermione felt like she had lost her way in life and lost sense of who she really was. Of course, she was no longer anything like the person she had been at the ripe age of fourteen, but at least then she had had a strong sense of who she was, what she believed in, and what she wanted out of life.

What kind of person she wanted her life to be with.

The week she had spent with Draco in St. Mungos and all of the conversations they had had on his hospital bed had made her realize that she had absolutely no idea who she was anymore. He had opened her eyes and had pushed her in the right direction.

So, that very week, she had started the Movement for the Equality of Magical Creatures, or MEMC.

And it had been hell, as she had known it would be from the very beginning. Not a lot of people were sympathetic towards many of the magical creatures she wanted to protect from abuse. It appeared _some _prejudices still ran far too deep. She already had sixty-four howlers just this month for promoting the welfare of Centaurs and Werewolves.

But it was all worth it in the end, because she felt more like herself every day, more sure of herself with every step she took in the right direction. She felt like she could stand on her own two feet by herself and no one could just push her over. She wouldn't bend over like she'd been doing for Merlin knew how long. She'd journey on without distractions.

This sense of confidence also caused her to _finally _have a meaningful conversation with Ron, explaining that she had moved on and he ought to as well. He hadn't taken it well and hadn't talked to her for at least four and a half months after that, hoping that the cold shoulder would make her reconsider. When it hadn't, he eventually seemed to get over it, though the process wasn't pleasant for either of them. She'd had to slap him on at least three separate occasions, but it _seemed_ as if everything would be alright on that front of things.

Moe than that, she forced herself to extract herself from the shell she had somehow forced herself in. She stopped being so solitary, even if being solitary was preferable most of the time. She went out more, saw Ginny and Padma more regularly, and renewed her friendship with Harry and the rest of the Weasleys (though the second had been rather difficult). She finally stopped hiding at work, trying her best to make friends both within and outside of her department.

And she started volunteering at St. Mungos once a week at the Toxicology Ward. She made fast friends with all of the medi-witches there, who seemed to adore her.

As for her relationship with Draco Malfoy, to the world it was now non-existent, like they were both non-existent in each other's friend circles. She had told Ginny and Padma what had happened at St. Mungos, but after that she'd had no reason to discuss him with them, or anyone else. His name was rarely uttered to her in the year that followed.

They were never mentioned in the papers together, never questioned about at work. None of her friends ever mentioned his name to her, and it seemed as if he had never existed in the first place – like everything was back to normal. Like she'd really managed to come so far on her own. But she supposed that part of her life was private. She had no reason to inform anyone of her relationship with Malfoy – if it could even be called a relationship.

It was entirely true that she hadn't seen or spoken to Malfoy for an entire six months after she'd left St. Mungos that day. But on the first of July, the same day the papers for his merger with Bailey and Bailey Inc had been signed, he'd come to see her.

And it had almost been like old times.

/

**Six Months Ago: Hermione Granger's Flat**

She had been asleep when he'd come to her that first time.

She'd been tired that day and it had been a Saturday, so she'd figured a nap wouldn't do any harm. What could be required of her on a Saturday afternoon anyway? By now all of her friends and most of her coworkers knew that Saturday was her day of rest. It always had been. They ought to know by now if they didn't already.

So, Hermione had napped and she'd dreamt of many spectacular things on her old worn fluffy couch, wrapped comfortably in her duvet. It was the perfect way to spend the afternoon, she decided. She rarely got enough sleep as it was, with everyone vying for her attention and her plate completely full at work.

There were candles burning somewhere in her apartment and they smelled delicious – like cookies, perhaps. Or was she eating them? No, someone was giving them to her. Or perhaps the oven was on and they'd be ready soon for consumption.

Oh, yes. Yes, indeed, they'd be ready soon. So very soon. She could already feel them melting deliciously in her mouth, against her tongue, oh so soft and warm. And then she would break off a piece and offer it to the pair of grey eyes just over her shoulder. Hm, that was odd. She hadn't seen those grey eyes in a while. Had they been watching her this whole time? Not that it mattered. It was very comforting having them there, being watched like so.

So comforting in fact that she didn't hear the very familiar footsteps walk up to her front door.

She was jolted out of sleep when she heard a loud bang outside her door, followed by a long string of creative curses. The noise startled her so greatly that she scrambled off the couch and onto her knees rather painfully onto her hardwood floor, still tangled in her blanket, staring blindly at the door. The curses continued and she couldn't quite get her vision to lose the fuzzy quality it had developed, half asleep as she was.

"Hello?" she called out hoarsely, and if she was being honest, a little fearfully.

All of the noises immediately ceased and a painfully awkward silence followed. Well, at the time she would have labelled those moments as utterly terrifying. Now, to save face, she just claimed it had been incredibly bloody awkward – to anyone that asked. But in reality, she had been dazed, startled right out of sleep, and at her age that really wasn't a pretty picture.

But thankfully, the moment passed rather quickly as she realized what was going on. The person on the other side of the door cleared their throat rather awkwardly and shuffled around. She stood up, not sure whether to be irritated that someone had disturbed her sleep – and her Saturday! – or scared to death. Perhaps she ought not to have let them know that she was here. She swore, if it was that new intern with more questions, she'd throw a goddamn bloody fit! She'd kill the little bugger!

"Sorry, Granger," said the intruder finally. "It's just me. Why do you have boxes of paperwork outside your door?"

And she hadn't heard that voice for a very long time.

It wasn't that she'd forgotten how he sounded like – she didn't think she could ever forget how he sounded like – but it had been far too long. Far, far too long. Six months far too long! Perhaps she was just surprised, or maybe her brain was still addled from sleeping in the middle of the day, but she couldn't find it in herself to say anything in return.

She heard him exhale heavily and slide down the wall. This only made her freeze further. That particular sound was only _too _familiar, much too familiar. She had heard it far too many times after all, continuously for a couple of months if she was counting correctly. And Hermione always counted correctly. But she had grown past all that. Past _all _of it in the last six months without him. But with him here, it was almost like she was that desperate, desolate girl waiting for an enigma to come save her from her misery all over again.

She didn't know how she felt about that, so her words were hesitant when they finally came. "What are you doing here, Draco?"

"I thought it would be nice to catch up," he said calmly. She immediately hated how he was so calm. She remembered his disposition very well and calm wasn't a part of it. Composed perhaps, but never _calm. _"Do you want me to leave?"

"No," she responded, still hesitant. Did she want him to leave? No. Yes? Yes. No! There was really no time to decide that now. This was happening! "No. How are you? Do you um... want to come -"

He chuckled. "That's fine, Hermione. I think we're both comfortable like this."

She let go of the breath that she hadn't even been aware she had been holding in. So he didn't want to come inside. So why was he here? But it was okay. Or maybe he thought he was being considerate or something stupid like that. She wouldn't have minded if he came inside! Or perhaps she would have minded – she was in her pajamas and looked like absolute shit. So alright, maybe it _was _considerate after all.

But then, he'd already seen her in worse. He'd already seen her in less and there was no going back from _that. _

"You know, I can practically hear you thinking all the way over here." She blushed at that and wondered he knew about that too. He had to know her as well as she knew him, after all. Perhaps she was as predictable as he was spontaneous. "We don't need to be formal, love. I know how it'd be if we went through the fantastic door opening ceremony, and we don't need it. Not right now. Besides, I just needed to tell you something before I'm needed elsewhere."

She supposed she could respect that. It made sense, after all. She supposed if she was being entirely honest, she would have tried to play hostess. She knew he hated that – it was so typically pureblooded to be formal and lovely in these kinds of situations, quite a tradition in those circles – and he despised everything about that life. Especially the customs.

Well, he was nothing like she'd imagined when she had been younger.

"What did you want to tell me?" she prompted when he didn't say anything. For a second she thought he'd fallen asleep.

"My company has taken over Bailey and Bailey," he said in a rush, as if he'd just been waiting for her to ask the question. "You know, the company that owns half of Diagon Alley? Well, they're saying we partnered, but the CEO's retiring this year and they all want to put _my _name up for the head! Can you imagine? Me!"

He stopped, clearly out of breath from spitting out words faster than any human could possibly manage without some kind of caffeinated substance or adrenaline. She supposed he was probably high on both. For a second she wondered why he was _here _of all places. Why wasn't he out there, celebrating with everyone like he ought to be? Why weren't there girls draped over him left and right?

He didn't even let her consider it.

"It's absolutely crazy, Granger. What should I do? I mean, I'm not going to say no, obviously, but... This is going to be bloody insane!" He seemed something close to ecstatic. Or hysterical. Perhaps _that _was why he didn't want to come inside. He didn't want her to see exactly how frazzled and undone he was. "We've saved the company. Finally and for sure."

She really didn't know what to say to that, far too many thoughts and emotions flashing through her mind. So, she stuck to what was safe – absolutely foolproof.

"Congratulations! I'm so, _so _proud of you, Draco!"

He thanked her and it felt warm. She thought that perhaps that was what he had needed – someone to tell him that they were glad that he'd finally made it. She wasn't sure exactly what he had gone through in these past six months, but it had obviously been as grueling for him as it been for her, if not more so. Perhaps he had no one to help him feel gratified or worth it, and he needed her for what others weren't providing.

Wishing him a job well done.

Maybe he was alone and trying to make it places, but had no one there to smile when he was finished making something of himself.

So, she did for him what he so desperately needed. She smiled – oh, alright, she _shrieked – _and was on the urge of euphoria by the time he had finished telling her all of the details of the past six months of his life. She would have hugged him if he hadn't been too shaken to allow her to open the door, but he was probably afraid. She already knew that he wasn't used to the appreciation. She was overly familiar with his state of mind on _that _particular topic. They'd discussed it enough for her to not even have to ask.

Sometime later he asked her about what she'd been doing and she told him briefly of all of the successes she'd achieved at work. Later, she told him some of what had transpired in her personal life. He actually seemed genuinely pleased for her, which was rather weird. But then, it was probably weird to him that she actually gave a damn.

She was nearly asleep when he got up. It had to be at least midnight.

"I've brought you some cookies, Hermione," he said, and she smiled sleepily. She _knew_ she hadn't imagined the smell earlier in the day. "As a thank you. I hope you enjoy them."

When she finally understood what was going on and wrenched open the door, he had already left. But that was alright, she supposed. She took in the bag of what appeared to be homemade cookies and the box of paperwork her stupid assistant had probably left her, and practically floated back inside. It was all okay.

She was walking on air for days after that.

/

**Three Months Ago: Flourish and Blotts**

There hadn't been much need to see each other after his surprise visit to her flat. She was neither disappointed nor sad about the development, because what would they have done if he _had _decided to show up again? She had a feeling that it wouldn't have gone well, that they wouldn't have had anything to say to each other.

And that would have been worse than _not _seeing each other at all.

Even if it _was_ forever now. It really was for the better. She had convinced herself of it, even if it had taken her a long, long time to do so. The truth was that they were better off this way. It was nonsensical to think that it would have worked out between them, the way they had been going. It wasn't healthy to live one's life behind curtains and a relationship could only last so long behind closed doors. If they'd even had a relationship to begin with. Friendship? Perhaps.

And she had a feeling that he'd known that too and had accepted it, just like she had. They hadn't seen each other for three months and she figured that they probably never would, at least not intentionally. But it was okay because things were actually going places for her. She had helped pass two bills in just the space of three months (which had been bloody exhausting), had attended three Sunday brunches at the Weasleys (fun, but equally exhausting), and gone shopping twice with Ginny (which had killed her).

Nevertheless, it would've been nice if she could've just...

_No. _No, she refused to think about it.

Shaking her head to clear the absolutely unnecessary thoughts from her mind, she plastered a smile to her face and opened the door to the most fabulous place on earth: Flourish and Blotts. Ever since she'd become busy (as in, too busy to breathe) she'd stopped her weekend visits to the little piece of heaven on earth. It was rather sad and she was sure that the books and the shopkeeper missed her presence there. But what could she do? She just didn't have all that much time for leisure anymore.

Nevertheless, it felt quite good to be out and about, doing something for herself for once. As much as she enjoyed being productive and having a decent social life, it eventually became draining. Hell, she didn't have any time for herself anymore. This was going to be good for her. She didn't _need _anything else. She had everything she'd ever need in the aisles of this shop. Yes, she'd be absolutely satisfied.

And so, the smile that had been somewhat forced became genuine.

There was something special about this place for her. She'd been quite enamored with the whole idea of knowledge and reading and _learning _from a very young age, so much so that coming here was a sort of sacred ritual now. It couldn't be helped that she still got a bout of fangirl-ish excitement every time her favourite author released a new book or another addition was made to the Arithmacy section. It was just enjoyable.

Not a lot of her friends understood her passion for learning, even to this day. Why, Hermione? Why do you _need to know? _Certainly, most of the facts she crammed in her head (if she had the time) weren't ever going to be useful to her in her practical life. But it wasn't about that anymore.

Alright, if she were being honest, it had been at one point. Succeeding in school had been paramount and one never knew what would be useful when it came to the hazardous life of Harry Potter. The boy had been an absolute walking death trap. Every little piece of knowledge she could throw in his favour was important. And she _had _saved his life, after all, on several different occasions.

Perhaps after the war she had continued it as a habit, but now, now it was all different. She wasn't quite sure _why _she kept up to date with the newest edition of _The Standard Book of Spells _every time it came out just before the fall, or why she kept up with her potions knowledge. Perhaps she just liked bettering herself. Or maybe it was just nice to know things that a lot of people her age didn't bother with. Whenever anyone asked her, her response was: It's just _fun. _

So, alright. She was a bookworm and a nerd. _Someone _had been right about that.

But she didn't want to think about that _someone _right at that moment. In fact, she didn't want to think about anyone but Richard Moss who had just come out with a new book about counter curses. It was supposed to be fascinating. The reviews page in the Daily Prophet had given it four and a half stars – which was absolutely fantastic.

Settling in one of the many comfortably padded couches peppered throughout the shop, she began to embark on a marvellous journey with what was probably going to be her new favourite book for at _least _a month and a half, if not more. Of course, it would never take the place of _Hogwarts: A History_, because that book was just holy grail material, but perhaps it would be up there with it.

Unfortunately for her, it just wasn't meant to be a lovely trip to her favourite book store.

First, a little boy just would _not _stop crying. The wails of the insolent child just filtered throughout the shop to the point that Hermione just could not concentrate. No one said anything to the mother, who just _ignored _the wailing (what kind of a person did that, anyway?) and it was all in all, a very annoying half a bloody hour.

After the mother and her annoying little boy had _finally _left the store (much to the relief of nearly all of the occupants, minus the old lady that looked rather deaf to begin with), Hermione was only able to enjoy about six and a half minutes of silence. She'd barely gotten through the first chapter when a large family of seven came trampling through the store with their annoyingly loud voices and heavy footsteps.

The distractions were practically endless. Whether it was a yammering pair of teenage girls, an overly excitable child, a woman with an owl (who the hell brought pets to a _bookstore?_), or an extremely inappropriate man and woman who were obviously lovers, Hermione just could not concentrate. It was rather sad because these days, she couldn't find a moment of peace. Why were people conspiring against her?

That was why when an employee of the store whom she normally was rather kind to, began to chatter quite loudly with another patron, she just _had _to turn around and glare at the pair. She had been about to ask rather rudely for them to keep it the bloody fuck down until her eyes caught sight of the unmistakeably pale blond head of hair.

Of course he'd be here. Why wouldn't he? It was obviously fuck over Hermione Granger day.

"And what are you looking for this week?" the employee was asking. Was his name Stanley? Perhaps it was, but she couldn't remember. Maybe it was Martin. Or perhaps Thomas. "Same topic as last time?"

She could see Draco shrug, his back to her, and she couldn't keep the image of his bare, muscular shoulders from entering her mind. It wasn't her fault, really. He just had defined muscles there. Perfect to grasp... Amongst other things, of course. Like staring. Her mouth began to water slightly and she had to force herself to look away, blushing, pretending to pay attention to her now uninteresting book. Of course it'd be uninteresting! Who was she fooling? Everything paled in comparison when it came to that someone.

"What's new and interesting?" Draco asked. His voice was as smooth as always. But why wouldn't it be? He had absolutely nothing to be nervous about. Hell, he probably had no idea that she was here, listening in on him like a fucking stalker. "The last book was slightly boring, mate, no offence."

_Wait. _Wait, wait, wait. Draco Malfoy read _books?_

"Well!" Stanley-Martin-Thomas exclaimed in his usual jovial voice. "This week Richard Moss has come out with his newest edition, which I can lead you to if you're interested."

"Richard Moss? You mean the curse breaker?" Draco asked. Hermione's eyes widened. Draco Malfoy knew who Richard Moss was? Was she imagining the slight excitement or interest in his voice because she wanted to, or what he just that brilliant? "That _does _sound interesting! Lead the way, if you will."

And of course they'd walk in her direction. She'd chosen to sit down near the display of the book he was after, hadn't she? Why had she been so bloody interested in Richard Moss _anyway? _He wasn't that interesting, if she really thought about it. They were just curses and who cared about curses? Or counter curses, for that matter. They all could just go explode in a big pile of tar for all she cared. As long as he didn't spot her being an absolute creeper, it was all going to be blood fine –

"Hermione?"

She tried her best not to cringe at the voice, though she wasn't sure how successful she'd been in the endeavour. She glanced up from the page she'd been staring at for at least a half hour now to find him staring at her with a smile on his face. It was so obvious he knew! Fuck him, then. She just hoped she'd been nonchalant enough to save her dignity. Though, by the slight smirk on his face, she wasn't sure if he'd let her get away with it.

"Oh, hello. How's it going?" she asked flippantly, unconsciously raising the book higher in an attempt to hide behind it. "Been well?"

Draco just nodded, gesturing to the seat next to her. "Mind if I join you?"

She just nodded as if it didn't really matter if he did, even though they both knew that it mattered a hell of a lot. Why was he here? And why was he here next to _her? _He ought to have left like a normal person, giving her privacy and all that. He wasn't supposed to be nice, no, he was supposed to be cool and calm like he always was. Not warm. No, definitely not warm of all things to be.

They sat in silence for some time, which was rather awkward for her. Who wouldn't feel awkward in a situation like that, anyway? But every time she glanced over at him, he seemed completely relaxed (and she _knew _how he looked completely relaxed) absorbed in that goddamn book. She tried reading, she honestly did, but nothing seemed to stick with her. He didn't seem to notice. That was both a blessing and a curse.

Soon, she was zoning out to a dream like state. What would it be like to just smack him over the head for imposing himself on her like this? Would he laugh at her or be insanely mad? One never knew with him. He was absolutely unpredictable, quite like fire. One never knew which way he would blow. Perhaps he'd just leave abruptly. Or maybe he'd grab her by the shoulders and –

"I swear, that couple there has been snogging for at _least _twenty minutes now," he muttered to her. She glanced over at him, chuckling. So he'd noticed too, had he? Well, she supposed it'd be pretty hard _not _to notice something so in your face. "Shall we tell them to get a room?"

She grinned at that. "Perhaps. But you weren't here when the screaming kid was yelling his head off earlier."

"Must have been a nightmare," he responded with a grimace.

And then, they were sitting in silence again. Well, silence between them, anyway. The store seemed to be alive around her. But for some reason, she really didn't mind as she usually would have. Maybe it was because he had put her slightly more at ease. Slightly, because she couldn't ignore the fact that his body was right next to hers. His body hadn't been this close to hers for about nine months now. Hell, if she'd been pregnant, she would've been handing him his baby right about now...

"What do you think about this?" he asked, startling her out of her most disturbing thoughts yet. She knew she was blushing insanely red. Let him think she was hot, just please let him think she was hot. "Seems rather presumptuous, doesn't it?"

"What?"

"Here, on page twenty of the introduction." He turned the pages of her copy for her and she wondered how he was so at ease with her. How could he be so familiar when he'd been away for the better part of an entire year? And then, he was reciting as if it weren't the sexiest thing she'd seen in a while. "_Counter curses are not based in wand movements as many have previously believed, but rather in the subtle art of pronunciation._ Surely, wand movements are equally as important as the incantation, don't you agree?"

"Well... not necessarily." It took her a moment to gather her thoughts. He probably thought she was an absolute idiot! "It doesn't have to be."

"Well, why not?" And unlike most of her friends, he seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say about the topic. "All elementary magic requires mastering wand movements."

"Assuming that the spell you're trying to counter is elementary and is the method in which you're countering it," she pointed out.

"Ah, yes. That's true. But even in higher grade complex spells, wand movements are paramount," he argued, waving about his hands excitedly. "How would you cast nonverbal spells without brandishing your wand?"

She laughed at his enthusiasm. It was freaking adorable. "Would you brandish about your hands like so if you were using wandless magic? That requires no wand movement, after all."

"Point taken," he conceded, looking rather serious all of a sudden. She watched him think, process something he obviously found interesting. It was strange to her that she was sitting here, discussing something intelligent with Draco Malfoy of all people. Then suddenly, there was brightness about his eyes. "Sounds a bit like Snape to me, anyhow.

"What the... _how?" _

His face took on a serious quality then.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few," and he gave her a pointed stare, "Who possess, the predisposition... I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death."

She couldn't believe that it was happening, really. By the time he was staring at her with his best impression of Severus Snape plastered over his all together too gorgeous of a face, she was hysterical. She had never laughed so hard.

And then, he was smirking, continuing, "Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to NOT-PAY-ATTENTION."

And then they laughed until the snogging couple broke apart to glare at them. That didn't deter them at all, though. In fact, it probably made them laugh all the harder. She laughed so hard that she thought she might actually piss herself if he didn't stop staring at her like that. But it couldn't be helped, it was seriously just _that_ funny. It continued on until Stanley-Martin-Thomas nervously asked them to keep it down, the poor fellow.

It was with a grin that they got up to leave some time later. Draco had something at work to attend to and she wasn't about to stay there by herself to get glared at by the couple that hadn't returned to snogging for some reason. Before he left her at the cashier, he gently patted her shoulder. It was familiar enough, she supposed. It was better than him sticking his hand out for her to shake. That would've been a bloody nightmare.

"I'll write to you," he had proclaimed, suddenly, as if the idea had only just occurred to him. "If you don't mind, that is."

She just smiled, shrugging, thinking that it was probably just an attempt to not leave things at an awkward ending. She really didn't mind. If seeing him after long periods of time was this much fun, she was willing to go through it again. But, she wouldn't begrudge him this. No one enjoyed leaving things awkwardly. If this was what it took to make him feel better, then it was fine with her.

When they finally _did _part ways, it wasn't melancholic at all. In fact, she even managed to get some shopping done! She hadn't visited the apothecary in ages and she'd definitely run out of normal ink. Her cash stash was running rather low as well, so a horrible visit to Gringotts would also be necessary. And she knew that it _would _be horrible because the Goblins never did like her after she'd helped their dragon escape and nearly take the building down in the process.

By the time she'd gotten home, dusk had already fallen. The moment she opened her flat door, she realized that she had mail. And, of course, who else would it be from?

_Hermione, _

_Turn to page 394._

And she had to say, she almost died from laughing so bloody hard.

/

**One and a Half Months Ago: St. Mungos Charity Fundraiser Gala**

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" she pleaded, giving Ginny and Padma her best puppy dog look. "I swear it'll be fun!"

They both stared at her as if she were the hugest bloody liar in the world. Which, of course, they were right about at that particular moment in time. Everyone knew that any parties St. Mungos threw were tedious and absolutely fucking boring. It was partially why not all that many people attended unless they were obligated, forced to, blackmailed, or bribed. Hermione was in the first category and she had hoped that her two best girlfriends would have given her company.

It was not to be so, unfortunately. Ginny had begrudgingly agreed when Hermione had asked her a couple of weeks back, but when she had learned that it was Padma's night off that night, they had both insisted that she go by herself. Make a few new friends, and why not? It wasn't like there was much else to do at these kinds of parties.

And it was a charity fundraiser, which were the _worst _kind.

So, she plastered on her saddest looking face as she fastened her earrings to their respective ears. Still, no budging. They were really made of stone, they were, not even pitying her even the tiniest little bit. It was a cruel, cruel world when one's friends abandoned one to boredom. Hermione tried her best not to glare (and obviously failed because they both _laughed _at her) and slipped into her heels.

If she was _going _to have a dreadful night, she might as well look fabulous while she was doing it. Which was absolute bullshit, but that was what Ginny had said (and insisted). Hermione had to admit, though, she didn't look half bad. In fact, she looked rather decent according to Ginny. Well, Ginny's word had been _fuckable, _but Hermione preferred decent. It was rather more appropriate.

And so, she was off, apparating to St. Mungo's and walking to the conference room they had, which was really the only place big enough in the building to hold any kind of event. That they refused to just rent a hall somewhere was still incredulous, but she supposed she had to respect their scruples. Why waste money on something like that when space was readily available? But still, having a party at a hospital wasn't the _best _thing in the world.

Unfortunately, it was even worse than _she _had anticipated. She was wedged between an overweight man who seemed to think his opinion on absolutely everything mattered on one side, and badgered by a woman who was clearly too old to be wearing such a revealing dress and such an obvious wig. They both talked her ears off all through the not so appetizing dinner, which she had to eat anyway just so she had an excuse not to talk.

She was so harassed by the time dessert had come and gone that she was more than ready to get up, make her excuses, and go home. Or really, anything that would get her the fuck out of here would suffice. Maybe she ought to break her leg and spend the night at St. Mungos. That would be absolutely brilliant in comparison to fat man who was beginning to grow sweat stains under his arms. Arms that were practically pressed against her.

And then, much to her annoyance, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around, ready to glare at the offender when she realized that it was none other than her saviour.

"Care for a dance, Granger?" he asked formally, as if he didn't actually know her.

She would have leapt into his arms if she'd had the opportunity, really, nodding like the maniac she was. And Draco looked rather good enough to do such a thing. He had on tailored grey robes. It was obvious that he'd figured out that black looked far too severe with his pale skin and blond hair. This was far more suitable. She had to restrain herself from showing her gratitude physically for the rescue he'd planned. And as they danced, he seemed to be rather at ease, even though she must have looked electrified.

"What are you doing here?" she finally asked when he didn't say anything. He was just staring at her oddly and she couldn't quite place the stare. It meant something, though, meant something for sure. She just wasn't exactly sure what that something was. "Have you come to save me?"

"Yes," was all he said.

So, she danced with him in silence. He stared at her like he was trying to perform legilimency, so she avoided eye contact. All in all, it was rather odd and more than just uncomfortable. He was _intense _for some reason and she felt like she'd done something wrong. But what could it be? She hadn't seen him for some time, couldn't even remember how long it had been.

"Did you get my last owl?" she asked, attempting to start the conversation between them once again. He just nodded though, not even opening his mouth, which was disappointing. His gaze did not waver, not even when he twirled her around to the rhythm of the music. "Well, did you read it?"

Another slow nod of the head, just once. As if the answer was obvious. As if to say, why are you talking when I'm staring at you? Can you not see how _busy_ I am? How dare you, Granger, how dare you!

So, she had to oblige him. It wasn't like she had many options to say no. He didn't let her go after the song was over, instead holding her there until the next one started. She was alright at the whole dancing thing, but he was demanding. He wanted her to move in ways that she wasn't too comfortable or familiar with, but did so anyway, because well... he made her.

Third song, fourth, then fifth, and she was sure nearly everyone in the room was staring at her by now. Or them. Probably him, if she was being more accurate. But he didn't stare at anyone else but her. It was as if he was trying to tell her something but he thought that she was far too dense to understand. Maybe he was just stressed from work, and all. Maybe he loathed everyone else in the room and couldn't even bear to set his eyes on them.

He was probably on drugs.

"My feet hurt, Draco," she whispered to him when the current song ended.

And it was technically true, her feet actually _were _hurting. But of course she could endure it, though he didn't have to know that. She and every other woman had endured worse – it practically came along with wearing high heels. Well, if it was the price to pay to look like you have long legs, most women were willing to pay it. He stared at her, not questioningly, but intensely. And then he led her to her chair to gather her coat.

She hadn't said that she wanted to leave, although spending time at the party wasn't exactly her number one choice. She would have stayed if he had, even if he _was _acting rather psychotic. Regardless, she let him put her into her coat and escort her to the apparation points near the front waiting room. Even though the walk there was at least a couple of minutes, he still said nothing and it was starting to unnerve her.

All he did was hook his arm into hers and apparate them to her flat.

He didn't wait for her to open her door and make sure that she was inside like she thought he was there to do. Instead, he lifted her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles.

"Goodnight, Hermione," he said, his voice low, almost like a gravelly whisper. He leaned in to press his lips to her cheek, once then twice, in such a quick succession that she wasn't even sure it had even happened. "Sleep well."

And then he left her there, without even a glance back, leaving her to lean against her own front door, completely dazed.

She was off kilter for days afterwards.

/

**Present Day: Hermione Granger's Flat**

Things were going... normally. Absolutely normally. Or, as normal as she had become used to, anyway. She went to work, she saw her friends as much as time allowed, she exchanged letters with an odd man named Draco Malfoy, and she read books like a fiend.

So, yes. It was all absolutely normal.

She wasn't entirely sure whether normal was a good thing or a bad thing. Perhaps it was both and something in between the two. With normal there was security and a base on which she could rely upon. With normal she knew what to expect. With normal there was nothing too strange about... well, anything. It was all predictable, reliable, and the way she should have wanted things.

In fact, she felt rather comfortable, if she was being honest with herself. And in her opinion, comfortable was a good thing. She was alright with the way she felt, the way she was, the way she looked, and the way things in her life were going. She was accepting and she was tolerant. She supposed that the wise ones had always been right after all: Change favours those who are willing.

And she had been willing enough, she supposed. Was she favoured?

She had no idea, not even one single clue what that even meant to begin with. She really did have this odd habit of going off in her head on long rambles that really didn't make any sense whatsoever. But who the fuck cared? No one _else _was listening in, at least not that she was aware of. Because such a thing would be _mortifying. _Honestly, some of the things she thought about! She'd be a disgrace! Clearly, some things were never meant to be shared or broadcasted.

She shuddered at the thought as she opened the door on her way out to see Harry...

... and slammed it right back shut in surprise.

Her heart was pounding all of a sudden, unreasonably but persistent. She couldn't just tell it to calm down since it didn't understand English. (What the fuck? _English_?).

And then, she cringed. Of course she had to cringe. She'd seen him sitting outside her apartment door and had slammed the door shut right in his face. Though his eyes were closed – or had been closed, were they still closed? – Perhaps he hadn't heard? Maybe she was lucky and he'd been asleep. Still was asleep, in fact. She could just pretend this embarrassing situation just hadn't happened at all. Yes, that was exactly what she'd do.

"It's alright," he called out to her. She cringed again. "I'm sorry I startled you."

And of course he'd be all _nice _about it!

It wasn't her fault, really. He actually _had _startled her. She hadn't seen him since the night he'd been so odd at St. Mungos, and he'd only just been named one of the most successful and wealthiest people in all of Britain this morning. What was he _doing _here? Why? _Why? _

"I saw you in the Prophet," she told him when he remained silent. What was with him and being silent these days? Sure, he'd write to her, long letters and everything. Why couldn't he say those things in person? "Congratulations."

"Thank you," he said. It was brief. It was soft. He seemed off.

"Do you want to come in?" she asked tentatively.

He didn't answer for a few moments and she supposed he was thinking his options through. She didn't see why he'd have to do such a thing, it wasn't as if she was about to banish him from here. But perhaps he was nervous like she was. Maybe his heart was thundering faster than hers and maybe she _hadn't_ imagined him sucking in air like he was short in supply.

"We don't need to," he finally replied. He seemed calm enough so perhaps that was a good sign. She could hear him getting up, dusting his robes off. "I've got somewhere to be soon, anyway. It's always nice seeing you, Hermione."

She wrenched the door open before he could escape this time. He seemed as startled by the action as she felt, and of course it had been startling. She could see the uncertainty in his eyes – he couldn't hide things like that very well, never had in the past, either – and she figured that she probably should apologize for slamming the door in his face. That had been... rude, to say the least.

So Draco Malfoy had feelings to hurt, too. Just like everyone else. But she'd known that. Of course she'd known that, she knew everything important there was to know about him!

Like the fact that his favourite colour was blue. And that he liked spicy food, salty crisps on occasion, and _especially _chocolate cake. He absolutely refused to eat any variety of bland food stuffs, because what was the point of that anyway? He was quirky and serious. He was enjoyable and gorgeous. He liked cats over dogs because he was lazy, loved and loathed his best mate, hated the colour orange because it was associated with the Weasleys...

He was charming and sweet and tentative and kind. He was nothing like she imagined she'd wanted out of a man when she'd been young and wild.

"Come in," she said to him with a smile. And he smiled back.

She stopped him when he reached the threshold and he seemed shocked that she'd done so, all emotion fading from his face. Before he could even think of taking a step back, she grabbed him by the collar and kissed him. It was reckless and stupid and bolder than anything she'd done in an exceptionally long time, but it felt good. _He _felt good. So perhaps doing things his way was worth it.

His smile was back once more when she moved aside, gesturing for him to enter. She didn't follow him through, choosing instead to lean against the door, realizing that the piece of wood would no longer protect her from anything anymore. And in a way that was scary. But she was willing to let it go. Change favoured those that were willing.

Honestly, she hadn't expected any of this to happen. Veela blood, wild sex with her old school nemesis, actually getting to a place that she enjoyed in her life... When she had been young she'd fantasized of high places and romance that was beyond her wildest dreams. This wasn't going to be anything like that, that was for sure.

If this was going anywhere, it wasn't going to be high and mighty. She'd learned not to expect that out of her relationships the hard way. It was going to be rough, because face it, she and Malfoy were crazy people. But that was alright. Because she was smarter now than she'd been when she was a teenager, fantasizing after boys that obviously didn't deserve her.

Malfoy had good manners, he spoke politely, and he was doing great things with his life. What else could she want in a man? She could learn to deal with his quirks. She could probably bloody love him passionately.

Perhaps things would work out between them.

"Granger!" Draco called out to her from somewhere in her apartment. "This place is absolutely _shabby! _Are those really your drapes? Is that a _hairball?_"

Or perhaps she'd just kill him.

**A/N: So this is obviously an (amusingly) open ending for those of you who prefer them to be separated. It's possible that this relationship went that way. For those of you who prefer her with Ron, the epilogue that J.K wrote (or a variation of it) is still possible. It's all up to your imagination. **

**I want to say thank you to all for all of your BRILLIANT support and kind words. I would never have finished writing this without you. It was perhaps the most challenging thing I've ever written and it's all thanks to you. **

**I really hope you will join me in my next endeavour, When the Stranger's Gone (Sequel to When a Stranger Calls). If not, that is alright. I have loved every moment of this (and hated quite a bit of it too, but that's neither here nor there) and it's really been a wild journey. I can't really put much more into words. Do let me know what you think! I love talking to each and every one of you.**

**Well wishes to all of you, **

**Murtagh799**


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